In Other Words
by Accidental Beauty
Summary: London - shaken, not stirred. (C&R) Caution: Sexual themes, language.
1. I Smoke A Lot

A/N:  This is my first attempt at fanfic, and I really don't know how well it's going to turn out, but once I got the idea I couldn't believe how quickly the storyline worked itself out in my mind.  I'm typically a Joey/Rachel fan, but for some reason the pairing of Chandler and Rachel has been most interesting to me lately, and that's where this story got started.  The only thing that I need to clarify here is that the story depends on the idea that Rachel accepted the invitation to Ross and Emily's wedding, and arrived in London along with everyone else.  Everything else should make itself clear.  My undying love and admiration to the person who can name the band who sings the song I used for this chapter's title.  No cheating!!

**Disclaimer:**  I own nothing.  Well, that's not true; I own _some_ stuff, but as far as _Friends_ is concerned, I own nothing.  If I were making money off of this, I probably wouldn't be posting it on a free website.  But if someone would like to pay me to write anything else, I would certainly be happy to entertain any offers.

**Chapter 1:**

**I Smoke a Lot**

1998 – London, England

"…I don't care what anybody says, dude, that 'stuff' they serve is _not_ 'food'!"  Joey sauntered through the airport beside a grim-faced Chandler, sucking on a splintered toothpick.  He plucked it from between his lips and tossed it carelessly into a trashcan as they walked toward the white-hot light glaring at them from the terminal exit.  Squinting, Chandler switched his carry-on bag from his left shoulder to his right as he felt the early summer breeze lift his hair and cool the skin at the back of his neck.  Behind him, he heard Monica's high-pitched chattering as she admonished Ross for supposedly stealing her pillow, while Rachel sighed in exasperation at the siblings' nonstop bickering, which had started almost immediately upon takeoff in New York eight hours before.  

He stood silently on the curb, massaging his temples, while Joey found cabs for everyone, torturing himself with an extremely vivid daydream about the burning comfort of cigarette smoke as it filled his lungs.  His sense of irritation had heightened the farther from New York City they traveled.  He hadn't smoked in months, but the craving had invaded his mind within an hour of their departure and had only increased as their trip bore on.  If he had to watch Monica quadruple-check her pre-wedding To-Do list one more time, he was going to scrawl the word "_Check!!_" onto her forehead with his thumbnail.  He may have already done so, if it weren't for the fact that he had gnawed his thumbnail to the quick immediately following Joey's first lengthy stewardess encounter.

He watched, stifling his growing impatience, as Joey helped Monica unload her endless bags into the trunk of the first cab, counting his heartbeats by the throbbing in his forehead.  After a couple of in-flight vodka drinks, Ross had begun to wax poetic about "fate" and "destiny", and how they had worked their magic in his life by leading him to the angelic Emily, who, judging by Ross' overly-verbose praise-fest, was scheduled for sainthood any day now.  Chandler wasn't sure how he'd done it, but he'd managed to feign rapt interest for nearly twenty-five minutes before his mind began to wander.  He'd caught himself eyeing a teenager one row up, the wires of his headphones trailing down to an MP3 player, partially hidden within the open knapsack in his lap.  Resting peacefully, mockingly, beside the player was an unopened pack of Camels, the sight of which had caused Chandler's mouth to instantaneously fill with saliva.  He'd swallowed hard and tried to focus his attention elsewhere, but the endless droning of Ross' voice had apparently hypnotized him into a dreamlike state, rendering him incapable of thinking about anything else.  

Conscious thought eluding him, he'd watched as the pack of cigarettes taunted him from within the confines of the kid's ratty, patch-covered backpack, littered, no doubt, with Linkin Park ticket stubs and piles of receipts from Skateboards-R-Us.  Groaning inwardly, Chandler had forced himself to tune back in to Ross' tedious and tiresome pontificating.  Silently cursing Rachel for booking her flight later than the rest of them, thereby, albeit inadvertently, assuring herself a seat separate from everyone else, he'd nodded and "Mm-hmm"ed at Ross for as long as he could bear, then faked a large yawn and pretended to fall asleep, playing possum for over an hour.  He'd waited until the area around him was quiet, and then dared a sidelong glance at Ross, who seemed to have dozed off himself.  He'd used this as an opportunity to slip away to the bathroom, hoping against hope that there would be an empty seat next to Rachel in the rear of the plane.  There wasn't.  Seeing the shell-shocked look on his face, she'd offered him a sympathetic smile and a copy of _Instyle_ magazine, which he'd managed to use as a diversion once Ross re-awakened only a half hour later.  

"Chandler?"  He turned towards his name and found Rachel staring at him quizzically from behind the open door of a second taxi.  "You OK?"

"Yeah," he exhaled.  "Just tired."  He looked around, suddenly panicked, at the ground near his feet.  "Where's my suitcase?!"

"The driver loaded it into the trunk."  Her head tilted to one side, hair like molten honey falling in her cobalt eyes.  "You ready to go, Bing?"  

He suddenly realized that Joey, Ross and Monica's taxi had already departed.  He extended his arm toward the open cab door, ushering Rachel in, then tossed his carry-on bag into the floorboard of the backseat and climbed in after her.  After giving the cab driver the address of their hotel, she rested her head against the back of the grungy seat and turned to smirk at him.  "Geller overload, huh?"  Her voice was dead serious, but her bright blue eyes were twinkling with unsuppressed mirth.

He snorted, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a nervous gesture.  "How on _Earth_ did you guess?!"

Giggling, she patted him on the knee.  "Oh, I know the symptoms well, m'friend.  Twitchy head movements, dazed expression – textbook signs of Phase One."  She turned away from him, taking in the sight of London as it zipped past her dingy window.  "Don't worry, though.  You're only in the early stages.  A shower and a nice stiff drink oughtta straighten you right out."

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a cigarette and a nice stiff…_cigarette_," he replied grimly.  His eyes darted toward the cityscape looming in front of them.  "Look out, gift shop, here comes Chandler!"

Rachel chuckled.  "Hey, whatever it takes, buddy."

***

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in the hotel room he was sharing with Joey, unlit cigarette perched between his lips, lighter poised for action, staring at the large "NO SMOKING" sign resting on the nightstand between the two queen beds.  "_Damn it_.  Damn damn damn damn damn damn _damn it!_"

"Dude, what's the probl – maaah!  _Chand_ler!  _What_ is that _thing_ doing in your mouth?!"  Joey stood in the bathroom door, hands on his hips, glaring.

"Well, I'm not positive, Joe, but I _thought_ if I stood here long enough, and listened closely, it might just whisper tomorrow's winning lottery numbers to me!"  Chandler crossed his arms across his chest and forced himself to count to ten.

Joey frowned, tapping his foot impatiently in Chandler's direction.  "I'm serious, Chandler.  Throw it out.  I'm not going to spend the evening scouting for hot British chicks with a musty, stinky, smoky…_smoker_!  No way, buddy.  Get rid of it!"  

Rolling his eyes, Chandler stuck the lighter in his pocket and grabbed his room keycard.  "I'll see you later, man."  He turned toward the door.

Joey followed closely on his heels.  "Du-u-ude!  Where you going?!"  

"Listen, man.  I have been awake since three-fucking-_thirty_ this morning.  I spent the first two hours of my day listening to Monica bark out commands like some kind of demented, sadistic, pre-transatlantic-flight drill sergeant while Ross called every two-point-three seconds to check and see if we were on our _way_ yet.  I haven't had anything to eat all day except for a bag of pretzels and a pudding cup, I now know the names of every one of Emily's forty-two _gazillion_ cousins - thanks to Ross and his "I-heart-Emily-and-here-are-nine-million-reasons-why" airplane monologue, my neck hurts from _pretending_ to sleep just to keep from _violently_ killing _both_ of the Gellers, my body thinks it's lunchtime when it's actually time for dinner, I've been dreaming about nothing but _this_ cigarette practically since we left New York, and unlike like _some_ people," - here he looked pointedly at his roommate - "I did _not_ get off of the plane with two hundred new phone numbers in my pocket!  Now, if you'll _excuse_ me, I'm going to go downstairs, light this cigarette, and suck on it until my _face implodes__!!!_"  Chandler stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Joey huffed indignantly.  "It was only _three_ numbers!!  Ha!"  Kicking off his shoes, he grabbed the remote control and flung himself down onto the flowery bedspread.  "Jeez!"

***

Across the hall, Rachel rifled through her suitcase in search of shampoo and conditioner.  _Where is it…where is it?  _

Monica trudged in from the bathroom, wrapped in one of the hotel towels.  "Your shower stuff is in the side pocket, Rach."  She sighed heavily and slumped down in one of the wing-backed armchairs by the window.  

"Oh…thanks, Mon."  She pulled out a large Ziploc bag, filled with various assorted toiletries.  "You see?  That's why I let you pack for me.  If _I _had done it, everything I own would probably be covered in coconut-scented body wash."  Receiving no response, Rachel looked up from her suitcase, concern lining her eyes.  "Mon?  Is something wrong?  You never miss an opportunity to revel in your organizational superiority."

Monica shrugged and continued to stare out across the London skyline.  "I don't know.  I was in the shower just now, and I suddenly realized that Ross is getting married for the _second_ time, and…I don't know."  She pushed a piece of her charcoal hair behind her ear and sniffed quietly.  "I don't even have a _boyfriend_, you know?  I'm just, I'm starting to feel…old, and…lonely.  I always pictured myself married and at least _getting ready _to start a family at this point in my life."  She shook her head, examining the back of her right hand with supreme interest.  "It just hasn't worked out the way I've always envisioned it."

Rachel padded across the room, easing down onto the corner of the bed, opposite her friend.  "I know, sweetie.  It's tough.  But you know, it's going to be OK.  You're gonna find somebody, and he's going to be charming and wonderful, and – oh man! – everything is going to be _perfect_ for you.  You're only twenty-nine, Mon.  You're not even close to being 'old'.  You just have to give yourself time to find the right man."

"I know…you're right.  It's just that, you know, sometimes I worry that, well – what if I made a mistake, with Richard?  What if _he_ is the 'right man' for me, and I ruined it?"  She sniffled again, louder this time, swiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"Aw, Mon, honey, you can't – you just can't think like that!  You'll make yourself crazy!  Sweetie, you and Richard were in different places – you wanted different things!  Eventually, you would have been ready for things that he wasn't willing to give – one of you would have had to sacrifice your own desires for the other person, and either one or _both_ of you would have ended up unhappy and resentful.  That's no way to live!"  She slid down onto her knees in front of Monica, taking her friend's hands into her own.  "Please don't waste your time trying to second-guess yourself.  You made those decisions for a reason, right?  You had to do what was right for _yourself_.  Everyone has to make tough choices, every day.  All we can do is hope that we're making the right ones and try not to screw up things too badly for ourselves or anyone else.  You did the right thing.  Don't be so hard on yourself, OK?"

Monica smiled, a fat, translucent tear sliding down her ivory cheek.  "Thanks, Rach."  Her forehead suddenly wrinkled.  "Listen to me, blubbering about my own silly hang-ups.  I shouldn't be depressing you with my stuff…what with Ross getting married and everything – I'm sure you've got your own issues."  She studied Rachel's face intently.  "How are you, sweetie?  Really?"

Rachel blinked, tilting her head ever so slightly to the right.  "You know, Mon, honestly – and even _I_ can't believe I'm about to say this - I feel absolutely fine…to tell the truth, I haven't even – gosh!  I haven't even thought about the potential weirdness since I bought my plant ticket."  She stood slowly, moving back into a sitting position on the bed.  Staring at an indeterminate spot on the horizon, she searched herself for any shred of jealousy or bitterness towards Ross and Emily, but came up empty-handed.  She shook herself in seeming disbelief.  "Maybe I'm _finally_ moving on with my life.  And oh my God, it's about damn time!"  

Monica smiled, sniffling.  "I'm so glad, sweetie."

Rachel stood, collecting her toiletries.  "Are you gonna be OK?"

The brunette smiled again, more faintly than before.  "Yeah, I think so.  Listen, I'm gonna get dressed and go see if anyone wants to go have a drink.  See you downstairs later?"

Rachel nodded.  "Maybe.  But first, shower.  _Very_ important."  She moved into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.  After turning on the faucet, she regarded herself in the mirror.  She noted the fine lines at the corner of her clear blue eyes, the hint of a wrinkle just above her brow line.  She was aging, certainly, but she felt more youthful than she'd felt in ages.  She exhaled slowly, enjoying the warmth of peace as it washed over her like a favorite quilt on a cool autumn night.

"Rach, ol' girl," she whispered.  "I think you're going to be alright after all."

***

Downstairs, Chandler sat alone at the hotel bar, studying the burning tip of his cigarette with an expression of deep love and gratitude, the ashtray in front of him already half-full of hastily smoked butts.  The bar was empty, save for the lone bartender, quietly polishing wine glasses in preparation for the evening rush.  Chandler took a deep drag from the cigarette, closing his eyes in enjoyment and relaxation as the smoke filled his lungs, exhaling slowly, languidly, relishing the feeling of nicotine pulsing through his veins.  He sat silently for a while, reveling in the solitude and relative calm surrounding him.  He had gone through nearly half of his pack when he heard customers begin to trickle into the bar.

"Chandler?"

He looked over his shoulder at the sound of his name to discover Monica and Joey eyeing him contemptuously.  "Hey, guys."

"Are you _smoking?_"  Monica looked disgusted, while Joey stood back, arms crossed, a look of deep satisfaction on his face in anticipation of the lecture he knew Monica was sure to deliver.

"What, these?"  Chandler motioned towards the well-used ashtray.  "No, noooo…these were here when I sat down."

"And what about the one in your hand right now?"  She set her purse down on the stool beside him.  "Was _that _one there when you sat down?"

Chandler feigned shock at the sight of the cigarette between his fingers.  "What the - ?!  Where did _that _come from?!"

Monica rolled her eyes at him in obvious distaste.  "Whatever.  It's your funeral."

Chandler smacked the bar with glee.  "Finally!"

The bartender wandered over.  "May I get you all something to drink?"

Monica scowled at Chandler, sitting down where her bag had once rested.  "Oh, I think so!  I'll have a scotch on the rocks with a twist, please.  You want anything, Joey?"

"Beer.  Whatever you got on tap."  Joey plopped himself onto the stool on the other side of Monica.

"And for you, sir?" the man appraised Chandler, raising his left eyebrow.  "Another…_daiquiri?_"

Chandler flushed.  "Um…no, thank you.  Beer is fine."  He cleared his throat and turned to the now slightly amused Monica.  "That glass was _also _here when I sat down."

"Sure, sure…"

Chandler quickly changed the subject.  "So, uh…where're Rachel and Ross?"  He contemplated lighting another cigarette, but decided to wait until he had finished the one already in his hand.

"Rachel's upstairs, taking a shower, and Ross went over to meet Emily and her parents for dinner."  She thanked the barkeep as he delivered their beverages.  "Have you been down here all this time?"

"Pretty much.  Of course, I would prefer to be up in the room, as that would be a more _comfortable _place to slowly kill myself, but unfortunately, it seems Ross booked us _non-smoking _rooms.  Go figure.  What are you guys up to?"

"We were thinking about having dinner at this place I heard about.  Supposedly, they serve the _best _fish and chips in all of England."  She took a hearty sip of her drink.  "You hungry?"

"Yeah, a little.  I really don't feel like going out, though.  I think I'll just get something from the restaurant here and hang out in the room tonight.  I'm beat."

"OK, well, I'm just gonna call up and see if Rachel wants to join us."   Chandler and Joey watched as she threw her bag over her shoulder and walked to the telephone at the other end of the bar.  Joey slipped into her seat and elbowed Chandler.  "You OK, dude?"

Chandler combed his fingers through his sandy hair and nodded, exhaling heavily.  "Yeah, man, I'm fine.  I'm just tired.  It's been a really long day."  He took a final drink from his pint glass and pushed it away.  Tossing a few pounds on the bar as he stood, he slapped Joey on the shoulder, pocketed his cigarettes and waved to Monica across the bar.  "I'll see you later on, Joe."

So much smoking in such a short amount of time had left him feeling a little queasy.  He took his time getting back to the room, waiting patiently for the elevator and trying to remember if he'd packed any pajamas.  It had been such a whirlwind this morning; it wouldn't surprise him to discover that he'd forgotten them.

Arriving on the fourth floor, he exited the elevator and dug in his pocket for the keycard.  As he pulled it out, the door to Monica and Rachel's room opened.  Rachel stood on the other side, her hair in a ponytail and still damp from her shower, clad in a pair of pink flannel pants and a white T-shirt, clutching her wallet.  "Oh, he - hey, Chandler!  You decide to stay in tonight, too?"  

"Yeah…I figure if I just hang out in the room tonight, I might be better company tomorrow.  I'm just not really in a 'Fancy Night Out' place."  He pushed the keycard into the slot on his door.  "What are you doing?"

"Well, honestly, I was about to go in search of snacks.  I, too, find myself oddly without the urge to wander aimlessly about London for God-knows-how-long looking for some place that Monica saw on Food Network."   They smiled at one another in understanding.  _Of course, she's probably upset about Ross, _thought Chandler.  

Rachel closed her door behind her.  "So…are you interested in any company, or you just want to be alone tonight?"

Chandler considered.  Rachel was, at the moment, the only person on Earth with whom he was not annoyed, and he really _didn't _necessarily want to spend the whole night alone in the room, moping.  "Yeah, sure, I could use some company.  Why don't you go get enough snacks for both of us while I change into something a little less…_filthy_?"

Rachel chuckled.  "No problem.  I'll be right back, Smoky."

Chandler watched her pad off towards the elevator as he let himself into the room.  After pulling off his shirt, he decided to jump in the shower to eradicate the funk emanating from his body.  A short five minutes later, wet hair askew, he was digging through his suitcase in search of something comfortable to wear.  Finally finding a pair of gray athletic shorts, he threw them on with a black Knicks T-shirt and carried his bag over to the dresser, setting it beside the television.  He had just hit "power" on the remote when Rachel knocked on his door, arms loaded with an assortment of chips, popcorn, candy bars, a couple of bags of mixed nuts and several cans of soda.  "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I bought one of _everything._"  He laughed, relieving her of the soda and placing two of the cans in the small refrigerator just inside the hotel room.  She dumped everything else on the bed for his perusal.

"Ooooooh, _Funyuns!!_"  Chandler jumped in exaggerated glee and landed, cross-legged, on Joey's bed.  "This trip might not be a complete bust, after all!"

***

_A/N:  Mostly background info in this one.  Hopefully things will get more exciting after this.  Leave a review, pleeeeeease, if for no other reason than to let me know someone actually read this.  Oh, but be kind.  I'm sensitive.  ***Kisses on both cheeks***  To those of you who made it this far - thanks for not falling asleep! :) _


	2. That's Never All

_A/N:  OK, so even after several surprisingly pleasant reviews (thank you all so, so much for those, by the way), I find myself more nervous than ever.  Go figure!  Anyway, this one is a bit shorter than the last one, but I had to stop where I did, in preparation for Chapter 3, which looks like it will be extremely long.  Many, many thanks to my lovely friend Sam for being my taste-tester and the second member of my think-tank, and for helping her American cousin ensure that any London references are accurate! _

**Disclaimer:**  Nope, still not mine.  Do you think there are people out there who might actually wonder if I didn't make that clear?

**Chapter 2**

**That's Never All**

Several hours later, Rachel reclined on Chandler's bed, propped up against both of his pillows and one of Joey's, comfortable and filled near to bursting with junk food and caffeine.  Chandler lay on his stomach, his head at her feet, fully engrossed in _Star Wars, _which they'd found on television during the first intermission in their gluttony.

"So, OK, so, let me get this straight," mused Rachel.  Chandler had been shocked to discover that she had only seen the final installment of the original trilogy, and had refused to turn the channel, insisting that if she didn't agree to watch the first one with him, that he would kick her out and keep all the snacks for himself.  "Luke and Leia are brother and sister, right?"

"Raafft," confirmed Chandler, his pillow muffling his response.  

"But…they seem to…_like_…each other…in _that _way."

Chandler turned his head to stare at her in shock.  "Rachel!  They don't _know _they're related yet!  Haven't you been paying attention _at all_??"

Rachel huffed.  "Yes!  It's just, it's…_science fiction._  You're lucky I'm still even awake, you know, what with all this business about Judos and stuff!"

"Jedis, it's _Jedis, _Rach.  You said you had seen _Return of the Jedi.  _It's right there, _in the title!!_"  

"Hey - I only went to see that movie because I heard Jimmy Valducci was going to be there!!  I spent the entire two hours looking around for him in the theater, and then trying to find the right moment to 'bump into him'.  Well, that, and going back and forth to the lobby to get more popcorn for _Monica._"  She took her hair down, fluffed it.  "Seriously, I mean, _what _is so _interesting about this stuff?  I just don't get it!  It seems really dull to me…like…_dinosaur _dull!"_

Chandler gasped dramatically, feigning insult.  "Hey, now, we talked about this already!  No – "

" – I know, I know… 'No making fun of The Movie.'  Blasphemy, and all of that.  I remember.  But after this is over, I get to find something that _I _want to watch, and you have to sit here and like it, no matter _what _it ends up being."

"Hey, that wasn't part of the deal!"

"Chandler…"  Her voice was a warning.

"OK, OK, you win."  He turned his eyes back to the screen, resting his chin on the pillow once more.  He was completely relaxed, and more than a little surprised that it was Rachel that had made him feel that way.  He'd always considered her a sort of wild card; a friend, certainly, insanely beautiful, and of course, fun to be around - but not necessarily someone with whom he'd voluntarily spend an entire evening, alone, in a hotel room.  She'd surprised him, though, and he realized with a jolt that if she hadn't agreed to watch the movie, he would have given in and turned the channel - just to keep her from leaving.  _That's…interesting…_he thought to himself.  Trying not to concentrate too long on the "Rachel-as-Leia" mental image Ross had inadvertently given him several years ago, he tuned back in to the movie.  "Ooooh, here comes the good part!"

***

"_Breakfast at Tiffany's_??  Seriously?"

"Look, mister, we had a deal.  No arguing."  She ripped into the last bag of popcorn and cracked open another soda.  "You'll like this, I promise!"

Chandler grumbled good-naturedly and swiped a handful of popcorn.

***

"Cat!?  Cat!?!!" Audrey Hepburn sobbed from the television screen.  "Oh, Cat…"

Rachel dabbed the corner of her eye with her T-shirt as Paul watched Holly wander through the alley in search of her beloved pet, almost breaking up completely at the sight of the feline huddled, wet and frightened, on a packing crate.  As Holly wrapped her trench coat around the cat and turned to gaze at Paul, Rachel distinctly heard a sniff from Chandler's end of the bed.  "Chandler, sweetie?  Are you OK?"

He cleared his throat, affecting a deep, manly voice.  "I'm fine.  I just don't see what all the fuss is about."  He began flipping aimlessly through the channels.  "Besides, everybody knows they completely ignored the ending in the book when they made the movie."

Rachel smirked at his failed attempt at apathy, then frowned, confused.  "Wait…there was a _book_?!"

***

Several hours later, Chandler awoke to the sound of the hotel room door opening.  He realized that at some point, apparently still half-asleep, he had repositioned himself on the bed, as he was now underneath the blanket and staring at the back of Rachel's head.   He heard muffled whispering from the doorway, but couldn't make out the words.  There was a soft giggling noise, and then the door closed again, quietly.  He waited to hear Joey make his way into the darkened room, but after a few moments of silence, he pushed himself up on his elbows to investigate.  From the bluish light originating from the television, Chandler could see that no one had come inside.  Squinting through eyes hazed with sleep, he read 1:14 a.m. on the alarm clock.  

_What's going on?  Where's Joey?_

Confused, he started to go look for his roommate, but the movement disturbed Rachel; mumbling, she turned and threw an arm across his back to draw him closer.  Before he could slip away from her, exhaustion overtook him.  

***

The next thing he knew, soft light was filtering in through the curtains, a car alarm sounding in the distance.  He blinked several times, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings.  Yawning widely, he eased himself up as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake Rachel.  His bare feet found the scratchy carpet and he stood, stretching.  Rachel made a small, contented sound and rolled over onto her back.  He found himself staring down at her - mesmerized by the way the early morning sunlight played against the blonde strands of her hair, slightly mussed from sleep.  Despite the fact that they had seen each other practically every day for the past four years, he was stricken by the feeling that he was looking at her for the first time.  There was something almost angelic about her face, the way her nose turned slightly up at the tip; the way her long, dark eyelashes fluttered as she slept.  He felt an odd tightening in his chest as he noticed her fingers curling around the edge of his pillow, gracefully, affectionately.  He was resisting an inexplicable urge to lie back down beside her and sleep away the rest of the morning when the door popped open and Joey sauntered in, yawning loudly.  Chandler jumped at the sudden noise, feeling a sharp surge of guilt, as if he'd done something naughty just by looking at her while she slept.  

"Well, good mornin', sunshine," Joey whispered.  His eyebrows bounced upward at the sight of Rachel sleeping soundly in Chandler's bed, with his own so obviously unused.  "Well, well, well…_what _do we have _here_?"

Chandler scoffed, exaggeratedly.  "With what?  With _Rachel?!  _Please…nothing happened, man.  We just hung out last night, y'know, had some snacks, watched a movie."  He scratched the back of his head, trying to appear casual and completely confident with his description of the previous evening.  He heard Monica's voice in his head, on Richard's answering machine: _I'm breezy!_  "I guess we fell asleep…wh-wh-where've you been?"

"I came in last night and saw you two, 'hangin' out'.  Didn't want to _interrupt _anything, so I, ah, I slept in Monica and Rachel's room."  He slipped off his shoes and unbuttoned his rumpled shirt.  "So.  You were here all night, alone, with Rachel, lookin' like she does, and you didn't try _anything _at all with her?"  Joey shook his head in disappointment.  "Chandler, you and me need to have a serious talk."

Chandler rolled his eyes.  "You know, it doesn't always have to be about sex.  Rachel is – she's practically _asexual, _as far as I'm concerned.  I look at her like I'd – like I'd look at a sister!"  _Liar!  Liar!!  _"She's my friend, man.  That's all."

Joey shook his head again.  "Dude, with guys and girls, that's _never _all."

***

_Well, that's strangely insulting, _thought Rachel, willing herself not to betray her state of nowhere-near-asleep.  _So…Chandler thinks I'm 'asexual'.  Huh.  _She waited silently until she heard Joey announce that he needed a shower, and then pretended to be awakened by the sound of the bathroom door closing.  Opening her eyes, she discovered Chandler in the entryway, systematically preparing coffee from the in-room coffeemaker.  She mentally berated herself for finding his makeshift pajamas charming, his face endearing, bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled as he was.  _You have to admit, he *can* be adorable.  It's too bad he thinks you're his little fucking 'sister'_.  

_What does it even matter, anyway?, _the logical voice inside her head chided her._  It's not like you're interested in him – it's *Chandler*, for God's sake!  _In an attempt to silence her meaningless and bizarre inner dialogue, she faked a large, overly emphatic yawn and was slightly pleased to see that she had startled him.

"Mornin'," he greeted her, gruffly.

"Good morning," she replied, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow, pointedly not acknowledging to herself the boyishly attractive way his hair stuck up at the back of his head.  _All right, all right, so it matters.  It matters because even though I'm his friend, I'm still a woman!  And he, as my friend, is required by law to publicly ignore that fact while privately admiring me!  That's the rule!  _She frowned into her pillow._  'Asexual', my ass.  I'll show him 'asexual'!  _She flipped casually over onto her back and kicked the blankets down to the bottom of the bed.  Trusting that she had attracted his attention, she groaned and pushed her hands up into the headboard, stretching her body to its full length and making certain that her t-shirt slipped up just far enough to display her bellybutton.  Noting the distinct absence of sound from Chandler's location by the coffeemaker, she rolled off of the bed and bounced to her feet energetically, facing him but squeezing her eyes tightly shut in yet another yawn.  Freeing her hair from its sleep-rumpled ponytail, she combed her fingers through it and sighed prettily, leaning her head back and pushing her chest forward.  She heard a noise from his direction and risked a glance towards him, finding a certain satisfaction in seeing that he was preoccupied with the box of filters he had just dropped.  _Mm-hmm_.  __

She slipped her feet into her bedroom shoes and picked up her wallet and keycard.  "Mmmmm…that coffee smells goo-ood.  I hope Monica's got some across the hall."  As she brushed past him, she lightly slid her fingers along his back.  "I had a really good time last night, Chandler," she cooed against the back of his neck.  "I guess I'll see you guys later on at the rehearsal dinner?"

"Y-yeah.  I guess so.  I mean, I'll be there, and Joey'll be there, and y-you'll be there.  We'll all be there.  So, ah…we'll see you there!"

She tossed a cheery "OK, bye!" in his direction, grinning widely as the door closed behind her.  _Now who's 'asexual'!?_

Inside the room, Chandler stood, eyes bulging, with both of his hands gripping the countertop, knuckles white.  

_What the hell was that?!?_

_***_

"Mon?"  Her friend nowhere to be seen, Rachel dropped her wallet onto her – _unused bed?  Why does that – wait.  Joey *just* said he slept here.  If Joey slept here, then why isn't this bed messed up?  Surely he didn't make it up before he left – he doesn't even make up his *own* bed.  _She examined the empty room, trying to find a logical explanation for the unfathomable conclusion towards which her brain was careening.  _But if he didn't sleep in my bed, then where – _she gasped as the realization hit her.  

She heard Joey saying, "_That's never all_," and gaped, open-mouthed, at the very idea.  

_Joey and *Monica*?!?!  Nooooooooooo…it isn't possible!  _Stunned, she eased herself down onto her bed, resisting the urge to run directly across the hall and get Chandler's thoughts.  _I can't say anything to him – I wasn't supposed to have heard his conversation with Joey.  I can't say anything to Joey, Monica isn't here – oh God, oh God, oh God…_

As if on cue, the telephone rang.  She dove for it, relief for the distraction flooding her veins.  "Hello!?"

"Rach?  Hi!!!"  Phoebe's voice sounded in her ear, the most beautiful music she had ever heard.

"Pheebs!!  Oh my God, am I glad to hear your voice!"  She glanced at the clock, confused.  "Wait – isn't it like – 4 a.m. there?  What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

"Ugh…the babies were up all night, playing freeze tag on my bladder.  Trust me, it's not something you can ignore.  I just thought I would call to make sure the trip was OK, before everyone left the hotel for the day."  She paused.  "So, wait, so, what's up?  Why are you so glad to hear my voice?"

Briefly, Rachel described the situation, pacing back and forth between the two beds.  "…and so now, now I don't know what to do!  I mean, Monica was so upset last night, and, and – the things Joey was saying this morning, Pheebs, I mean, _obviously, _whatever happened between him and Monica didn't mean very much to him, and she's just – she's not in a good place for something like this to happen!"  Getting no immediate response from her friend, Rachel stopped her pacing, mid-stride.  "Pheebs?  Are you still there?"

"Hang on, I'm listening to Steve!"  Phoebe continued to sit in patient silence, casting serious doubts in Rachel's mind as to whether or not she'd chosen the right person in which to confide.

"Steve?  Who the hell is Steve??  Did you even hear anything I just said?"

"Steve is my spiritual connection in London.  What, did you think I was going to just let you guys fly halfway across the planet without me and just, just _sit_ here for three days, alone, completely out of the loop??  Please!  Now, shhhh.  Steve doesn't like to be interrupted."

Rachel prodded her right temple with her index finger.  This wasn't going exactly as she'd expected.  "Pheebs, really, I – "

"Rachel!  Do you want my help or not?!"

"Yes, but – "

"Then shut up and let the man talk!!!!"

Rachel sighed, plopping down onto her bed again in frustration.  She was just considering hanging up the phone when Phoebe's voice broke the silence.  "OK, my sources tell me that nothing happened between Joey and Monica last night."

"But – "

"Let me finish!  Nothing happened last night, but it's my understanding that something is definitely going to happen tonight.  Don't worry, though.  I have been assured that whatever is going to happen is a _good _thing, and I don't think you should interfere with that."

Rachel forced herself to be patient, counting to five before she responded.  "But, Phoebe, you don't understand.  Monica was talking crazy last night – she's thinking about Richard again!  She said she was lonely!  And, and, and then she went out to dinner with Joey, _alone, _and then this morning, he said – "

"Rachel, you already told me all of this.  And I told you what I know.  The universe has her reasons – you can't go messing with the universe and her - her reasoning!!  Just calm down, go have some breakfast, maybe a Valium, and let things be.  It's going to be fine.  Trust me!"

Rachel felt certain about few things at the moment, but one thing she _was_ certain of was that Phoebe was obviously not going to be of any help to her on this particular subject.  "OK.  OK.  You're right.  It's none of my business anyway.  I'm just gonna go shopping, clear my head a little bit."

"Good, that's good!  Steve tells me there's some really great shopping in London – he's happy to offer you some recommendations.  Want me to ask him for addresses?"

Rachel smiled wanly.  If nothing else, at least she felt a little better.  "No, sweetie, that's OK.  I got a guidebook."  She lay back against the pillows.  "So, freeze tag, huh?"

"Yeah, it was unbelievable.  Leslie is definitely going to be an athlete.  Chandler didn't really seem to want to play, though…

***

A/N – Reviews are welcomed, but please use the gentle cycle! 


	3. Aged to Perfection

A/N:  I'm baaa-aaaack!  Sorry for the delay on this chapter…holidays and family circumstances got in the way but have no fear!  Chapter three has arrived!  *listens for applause, hears only crickets chirping*  Ah, well…

This chapter has a teeny, tiny bit of…naughtiness.  I don't think it's strong enough for an R rating, but if you think I'm wrong, let me know and I'll be glad to change it.  Also, if naughtiness offends you, then…well, that sucks.  What's wrong with you?  Naughtiness rocks! ;)  By the way, I've never written naughtiness before, so it may be terrible.  Prepare yourself.

I've read and re-read this chapter, revised, revised, revised some more, and still, I'm not entirely happy with it.  But unfortunately, there's only so many times you can read your own work before it starts to really blow, and I think I'm dangerously close to reaching that point, so I'm posting it now before I trash the whole thing and disappear into a cave somewhere, never to resurface.

Thanks again for the kind reviews.  You guys are the best!  

By the way, as you can likely see, I'm having trouble with my italics text changing back into regular text when I upload my chapters onto FF.net.  It only affects the first and last text in the document, but it's really annoying and I can't figure out how to fix it.  If anyone can help, I'd really appreciate it if you would email me with any tips!  Thanks!

_Some dialogue from this chapter taken directly from Episodes 423-424: TOW Ross' Wedding._

**Disclaimer:  ***sigh*****

_And now, after the longest A/N ever, I give you…_

**Chapter 3:**

**Aged to Perfection**

Rachel pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear as she browsed through a rack of designer handbags marked "HALF PRICE OR LESS!".  _No, no, no…no.  Damn.  _Not finding anything that suited her, she turned towards the blindingly sunny exit.  Pushing her sunglasses down over her eyes, she looked to her left, and then to her right, trying to decide whether she wanted to keep looking or head back to the hotel.  Having had no luck after two hours of wandering through the London shops, she conceded defeat, chalking it up to distraction, and opted to grab something small for lunch and then return to her room for a nap before the rehearsal dinner.  She turned to her left, vaguely remembering passing a café sometime during her travels from that direction.

Keeping an eye out for anything resembling an eating establishment, she reflected on the morning's discovery and her conversation with Phoebe.  _"You can't go messing with the universe…"  _Despite Phoebe's confidence, Rachel felt certain that a hookup between Joey and Monica couldn't possibly be anything short of disastrous; still, she resolved to let it be.  _Monica's a big girl; she can take care of herself.  Besides, _she scolded herself, _you don't have any proof that anything has or will happen.  _She paused to inspect a multi-colored sundress in a storefront she'd missed before.  The fashionista in her examined the garment critically.  _Nice lines, flattering cut….  _She wandered inside, rifled through the rack until she found her size and searched the shop for a dressing room.  Several moments later she was inspecting her reflection in the full-length mirror.  _The colors really suit me…._  She flipped over the price tag and nearly choked at the number on the back.  Her rational mind was warning her not to make such an extravagant purchase, but the ghost of the Rachel she had been years before – the one who had survived solely on Daddy's credit – whispered encouragement into her ear.  _Buy it, buy it!  It's perfect for the dinner tonight!  _Rachel shook her head resolutely, remembering the little black sleeveless number she had brought along just for the rehearsal.  She had managed to take the sundress off and climb back into her own clothes when,unbidden, Chandler's harsh words floated through her mind.  _"I look at her like I'd look at a sister…"  _She felt her cheeks burn at the memory and before she knew it, she was handing the saleslady her credit card and contemplating whether or not she needed to buy new shoes as well.  _Now you're just being silly, _her logical self chided.

_Right, _smirked the Old Rachel.  _Because buying a dress that costs more than a month's rent in order to impress a man you've known since high school just because you heard him say that he doesn't find you particularly attractive is perfectly *normal*, just as long as you don't bother to buy special *shoes* to go with it._

Rachel thanked the clerk and headed for the exit, pressing her lips together in a thin line.  Out in the sunshine, she proceeded back in the direction of the hotel, searching the strip of shops for a shoe store.

***

Chandler checked his appearance one last time, straightening his tie and brushing an errant piece of lint from his lapel.  _Not too bad.  _He unsuccessfully attempted one last time to smooth down the piece of hair at the back of his head that stubbornly refused to lie down, scowled and turned away from the mirror.  "You almost ready, Joe?"

He heard Joey's reply from the bathroom.  "Yeah, dude.  Just two more minutes."

Chandler checked his watch to make sure that they weren't running late and, sighing, sat down on the edge of his freshly made bed.  He had spent the day sightseeing with Joey, who had been so obvious about his tourist status that he had nearly driven Chandler to ditch him and return to the room on his own.  Every time he had considered the prospect of being alone in the hotel room, however, he'd remembered Rachel's behavior from earlier and had become so distracted by the confusing memory that his irritation had momentarily passed.  Although he had replayed the scenario over and over in his mind all day, he was no closer to deciphering whatever it was that she had been trying to say than he had been that morning.  Surrendering himself to the thought that it was just one more thing about women that he'd never understand, he stood and smoothed the rear of his pants down, making sure he hadn't created any wrinkles by sitting, however briefly, just as Joey stepped out into the room and announced that he was ready.  "Let's go, man."

Chandler dropped his key card into his breast pocket and made his way out into the hallway, noticing that the door to the girls' room stood open.  From inside the room, he could hear Monica rushing Rachel along.  Chuckling, he stuck his head into the room and found himself face-to-face with an impatient Monica.  "Whoa, there, Sergeant Geller, is everything ok, sir?"

"It's not funny, Chandler!  She's going to make me late to my own brother's rehearsal dinner!"  

"I'm going as _fast _as I can, _Monica_!  It's not like we're going to miss anything important if we're five minutes late!"  Rachel called from the bathroom.  "I told you to go ahead, anyway!  I don't even know why you're still here waiting!"

Seeing that Monica was mere seconds from losing her temper, Chandler stepped into the room and urged her towards the door.  "It's fine, I'll stay and catch a cab with Rachel, you go ahead with Joey.  We'll be right behind you."

Without waiting for further encouragement, Monica grabbed her purse and practically sprinted past Chandler and into the hallway.  He watched, amused, as she prodded Joey between the shoulder blades and hurried him in the direction of the elevator, where she punched the button repeatedly in an effort to make the doors open faster.  Biting back a sarcastic comment, Chandler closed the door to the girls' room and shoved his hands into his pockets.  "After all these years, you still haven't learned not to keep her waiting, huh, Rach?"

"You know as well as I do that even if I had been ready half an hour early, it still wouldn't have been early enough for her."  He heard the snap of a compact and saw the light go off in the bathroom.  Rachel stepped into the bedroom and he felt himself gasp, involuntarily.  She was wearing what amounted to little more than a slip, with nearly non-existent spaghetti straps grazing her lightly tanned shoulders.  The hints of blue in the fabric made her eyes seem even more brilliant than usual, and she'd pulled her hair up in a loose knot, emphasizing her long, slender neck.  The dress fell only inches below the slight curve of her hips, flaring ever so slightly at mid-thigh and resting there, teasing him with the maddening thought of what lay beneath….

"What is it?  Is it all wrong?"  Her brow was furrowed; Chandler felt his mouth go dry as he realized he had been caught staring and struggled unsuccessfully to form coherent words.

"Uh…no, no…it's fine, you look…amazing.  I just – I just remembered that I left the, uh…the television on in our room.  I'll, uh, I'll be right back."  He backed away towards the door as he spoke, fumbling around behind him for the knob.  Finding it, he wrenched the door open and dashed across the hall to the safety of his own room.  He forced his card into the lock and stood, panting, on the other side.  _The television?  Really?  Was that the best you could come up with?  Not a good start, Bing.  Not good at all._

He flipped the television on and then off again, just in case she could hear it from the hallway, and took several calming breaths before stepping back outside to meet her.  Willing himself not to let his eyes slip anywhere below her chin, he gestured towards the elevator.  "Sh – Shall we?"  He fell in step behind her as she made her way down the hall.  _Don't look at her ass, don't look at her ass!_

His eyes dropped, unbidden.  _Too late.  _The hem of the dress danced against the backs of her thighs as she walked, tantalizing him, and he groaned inwardly at the prospect of the long night ahead.  

In front of him, Rachel grinned at the elevator doors.  _I told you the shoes were a good idea, _boasted her younger self.

_I got news for you, sister, _came the more mature voice.  _He wasn't looking at the shoes._

_***_

When their cab stopped in front of the hall, Chandler knew he had never been so happy to get out of a taxi in his life.  The trip had only lasted ten minutes or so, but it had seemed like hours.  Rachel's perfume had lingered in the vehicle, fogging his mind and making it impossible for him to formulate coherent thoughts, much less make intelligent conversation.  As a result, Rachel had done most of the talking, and when she was talking, she was gesturing - with her hands, with her arms, with her entire body.  Their close proximity hadn't left her much room to move around, and several times her knee had nudged his own, sending shockwaves through his body, muddling his thoughts further and causing him to question his own sanity.  _Stupid small British cars!!_

As soon as they stepped into the dining room, he could see that things weren't going to improve any time soon.  London seemed to have magnified all of his friends into caricatures of themselves:  Joey was already flirting mercilessly with no less than three women, Monica was sitting morosely beside her mother, and Ross seemed to be diplomatically mediating a heated argument between Emily's father and his own.  _Yeah, and you…you're so hard up that you're lusting after a woman you've known forever, just because she put her hand on your back this morning!_  

"What the hell is up with everyone?"  Rachel echoed his thoughts.

"That _is _the question of the day…"  He requested two glasses of wine from the bartender and offered one to Rachel.  He raised his glass to hers, feigning normality.  "To the ability to fly across the Atlantic without losing our minds."

Rachel grinned.  "Cheers, '_mate'…_"  She clinked his glass and turned back to survey the action.

With her attention elsewhere, Chandler downed his entire glass in one long drink and signaled for a second.  "What's wrong with Monica?"

"Oh, you know.  The usual.  She doesn't have a boyfriend; she doesn't have any babies.  I'm sure Judy isn't making her feel any better about it."  Rachel sipped her wine, Chandler nodding in understanding.  "I talked to her a little about it last night, but I'm not sure if I did any good or not."  She paused, toying with the idea of telling Chandler about Joey and Monica's possible hookup.  _No, no, no.  Drink your wine._

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching, bemused, as a fight nearly broke out between Jack Geller and Mr. Waltham.  After the commotion died down, they made their way over to their seats.  "Hey, you guys," Monica mumbled, as Joey sauntered over to the table as well.  "You made it."

"Yep," replied Rachel.  "And we were even delayed by _at least _thirty more seconds because Chandler had to turn the TV off in the guys' room."

Joey's brow wrinkled.  "That's weird, I don't remember – "

Chandler cleared his throat loudly, missing Rachel's amused expression.  "So, Mr. Geller, Mrs. Geller, how does it feel to see your only son getting married…again?"

Jack looked cross, his face nearly purple as he sneered across the room at Emily's father, who appeared to be very deep in discussion with his future son-in-law.  "Well, it would feel a hell of a lot better if I knew he wasn't marrying into a family of greedy, manipulative sons of bitches."  Grumbling, he folded his arms across his chest, his eyes shooting daggers at Mr. Waltham.

Judy patted him on the arm, smoothing her hair down with her other hand.  "Now, Jack, don't make such a big deal out of this.  You know Ross will take care of it.  He's always been so responsible_, _so _conscientious._"  She sipped her wine, smiling insolently at Monica.  "At least we know we don't have to worry about _Ross_ taking care of _him_self."

Monica chugged her wine, her nails digging into Rachel's arm.  "Ouch!"

Ross approached the table, smiling widely.  "OK, we're all set.  I talked him out of the lawn decorations, the gazebo and the barbecue pit.  There's just the tiny matter of a new lawn, but we can take care of that after he's had a few more drinks."  Patting his father on the shoulder, Ross took a seat as Emily joined the group.

"I think we're ready to start with the toasts, Ross."  She addressed the room.  "If you could all just take your seats…Chandler, do you want to start?"

Chandler blanched.  _The toast!  You forgot your toast!_  He watched, panicked, as everyone around him settled themselves at their respective tables.  Telling himself to remain calm, he tilted his head to one side and smiled with false enthusiasm at all the unfamiliar faces.  "Um, uh…I'd like to toast Ross and Emily.  Of course, my big toast will be tomorrow at the wedding, so this is kind of my little toast, or Melba toast, if you will."  Chuckling uncomfortably at the lack of amusement from the group, he continued.  "Okay.  I've known Ross for a long time.  In fact, I knew him when he was going out with his first girlfriend.  And I thought things were going to work out for them…until the day he over-inflated her!"  Still receiving no response from any of the guests, he glanced around at his friends, mentally begging for help.  Jack and Judy exchanged an uneasy look.  "Oh, dear God…."

"Chandler!"  Rachel hissed.  "Are you OK!?"

He mouthed wordlessly at her, eyes wide with panic, flailing his wine glass in the air.  Turning back to his audience, he pasted another, even brighter smile on his face and pressed on, dreading what might come out of his unrehearsed mouth next.  "And I'm sure we're all very excited that Ross and Emily are getting married at Montgomery Hall.  I mean, to think, my friend getting married in Monty Hall!"  Frustrated by the closing silence, he thumped his glass down onto the table in irritation.  "Oh, come on!! Monty Hall!?!  Lets make a Deal!!?  Come on, people!!"  He slumped his shoulders in defeat. "All right, forget it!!  Congratulations, Ross and Emily."  Throwing himself down into his seat between Rachel and Joey, he tossed back the last of his wine.

Joey stood, visibly uncomfortable with having to follow Chandler's display.  "Hey, best man number two, Joey Tribbiani.  Now I'm not good with the jokes like Chandler here."  He gestured towards his roommate.  "Boy...but, ah, I just want to say congratulations to the happy couple.  I first met Ross…."

After a moment, Rachel patted Chandler's arm in sympathy.  "It's OK, you know," she whispered.  "You'll never see ninety percent of these people again, anyway."

Covering his face with his hands, Chandler moaned, "Yeah, but what about the other ten percent?  What about _Ross?!_"

"Oh, sweetie, Ross isn't going to remember your speech!  Joey just ended his toast with, 'Go Knicks!'"  Grinning, she nodded and gave Joey a discreet thumbs-up.  "I promise, by the time this thing's over, Ross will have forgotten that you even…spoke…toni – "  

Ross came around the table, a grim look painted across his face.  "Dude, what the _hell _was that about??  I mean, I expected as much from Joey, but I was counting on _you_!"

Chandler seemed to shrink down to a tenth of his normal size.  "I am so, so sorry, man, I guess…I guess I just got nervous."  

"Nervous?  _Nervous?!" _Ross bellowed, a vein pulsing in his forehead.  "You're my _best man_, Chandler, and you're rambling on about…about _game show hosts_… and, and _blow up dolls?!_"

"Ross?"  Emily called from across the room, apparently unconcerned with Chandler's inappropriate toast.  "Come here!  I want you to meet my favorite aunt and uncle!"

Ross glared menacingly at Chandler one last time before turning to smile graciously at Emily's relatives.  "So nice to _meet _you," he sang, spreading his arms in welcome.

Rachel snickered as Chandler exhaled in relief.  "Gosh, and people wonder why I'm not _with _him anymore."  At Chandler's abused expression, she tugged at his sleeve, pulling him up to his feet.  "Come on, Bing, let's go get us some more alcohol."

***

Several glasses of wine later, Chandler and Rachel stood on the terrace outside, giggling merrily, trading high school stories about the Gellers while Chandler puffed happily away on a cigarette.  "An' so, an' then, so I tol' Monica, I sai', 'Mon!  You gotta ack sessy!  Like, like you gotta ack like ererrythin' around you _turnsh you on_!'  So she di', an' I guess that's how she assidentally cut your toe off!"  Rachel slapped Chandler's shoulder with glee as he gaped at her in drunkenly exaggerated surprise.

"So, wait.  So…wait.  So _that's _why she acted so weird tha' night?  And _that's _why I on'y have nine toes?!"  Rachel swayed, suddenly nervous that Chandler would be upset about the revelation, but the nervousness vanished when he said merely, "Meh," and turned his empty glass upside down over his open mouth.  "S'empty.  D'ya wan' some more wine, Raysh?"

"More wine?"  Rachel inspected her glass closely.  "Well…I still have haf' a glass, shooo…yesh!  Of course!"  She started to hand her glass over to him for a refill, but then jerked it back, sloshing alcohol all over herself in the process.  "Aw…damn it!  My new dressh!"

"Oh no!!  Not the dressh!!"  Chandler cast his cigarette aside, pulled his jacket sleeve down over his hand and began swiping at the wet spot now covering Rachel's entire chest region.  "Which, by the way, I haf' been meanin' to tell you, looksh very, _very _nice on you, by the way.  I've been meanin' to tell you that.  All night.  By the way."

Rachel looked up quickly from overseeing Chandler's attempts to clean up her mess and wrinkled her forehead.  "Awwww…Chan'ler, that ish so shweet!  You look very nice, too, y'know, I always liked thish tie on you…."

Chandler turned his attention away from her nearly ruined dress and gazed mutely down to meet her slightly unfocused stare, rather unsteady in his intoxicated state.  _My God, she is so beautiful; just look at her._  At some point during the evening, she had taken her hair down from its position atop her head, and several strands of it had fallen in front of her eyes, eyes that seemed now to be asking a silent question; unbidden, he felt his left hand floating upward, watched as it rested ever so lightly on the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder.  With his right hand, he brushed the silken waves away from her face and watched, awed, as it gently settled against her bare skin.  His fingers drifted, feather light, from the sensitive flesh at the nape of her neck and downward, gliding weightlessly between her shoulder blades, gaining confidence as he watched her eyes flutter closed in breathless contentment.  He felt her lightly grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him slightly closer, and he let his free hand wander, unhurried, languidly, up the length of her arm, ceasing only to cup her flushed cheek.  Tilting her face upward towards his own, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, listened as her breathing became ragged – or was it his own? – and struggled without success to form a single intelligent thought.  His mind was a jumble of conflicting feelings, except for the hypnotic cadence of one phrase: _Kiss her.  Kiss her.  Kiss her.  _Unable to resist any longer, he lowered his mouth to hers…

"Chan'ler?!  Rashel?!  Thank God!  Normal people!  Sane people!"

Chandler felt himself yanked brutally back into reality as Rachel stepped reflexively away from him at the sound of Monica's panicked words.  "Mon?"  He heard the hoarseness in her voice, and was indescribably glad she had chosen to reply; he didn't know if he was capable of producing anything that even remotely resembled an audible sound.  

"My parents are driving me crazy!  Crazy!  And – and this man, this horrible, snotty British man thought _I _was Ross' _mother!_  I swear, if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill someone!"

"Ross' mother?  That's – " Chandler croaked, stopping to clear his raspy throat.  "That's ridiculous!"  His heart racing wildly, he locked eyes with Rachel, who looked as disconcerted – and disappointed – as he felt.  She frowned slightly, motioning with her head towards the dinner hall.  He turned his gaze in that direction and noticed Joey, standing with his back facing the open doorway.  Understanding, he placed his hand at the small of Monica's back and swung her back towards the entrance.  "That's absolutely ridiculous!  You don't look anything _like _Ross' mother!  _Your_ mother!  *_Any* _mother!"  Rachel close on his heels, he hurried Monica across the terrace and squeezed back into the hall, stopping to stand beside Joey, who was balking at the unfamiliar hors d'oeuvres that had just been offered to him by a passing waiter.

" – how many times do I have to tell you people!?  That – " he gestured towards the appetizers, " – is _not _food!  Now go!  GO!!"  Joey shook his head in disdain and turned to Chandler.  "I'm telling you, everything is weird here!  I want – "

"Joey, can you _believe _that some old, gross, _rude_ man thought that _Monica _was Ross' _mother?  _Isn't that just the most awful, disrespectful thing you have _ever _heard?!"  Chandler prayed furtively that Joey would take the bait.

"He thought _what?  _That's it!  I've had it with this country, with their stupid _non-food _and snotty waiters who _don't listen_!  Monica, where is this man?  I'm gonna give that son of a bitch a piece of my mind!"  He took Monica by the elbow and dragged her away, raving violently about all things non-American.

Chandler and Rachel watched them go, in silence, before turning to each other simultaneously.  "Do you think that was insensitive of us?" Chandler inquired.

"No, no.  Noooo.  Ok, yes.  A little.  But we can always blame it on the alcohol later, if she even remembers."  She took a step in Chandler's direction.  "So, uh, so…what now?"

Chandler looked down at her, suddenly sober, a nervous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  "You wanna get the hell out of here, before she comes back?"

Rachel smiled shakily.  "Yes.  Hell, yes."

***

Later, Rachel wouldn't remember taking the cab back to the hotel; her mind, muddled with so many thoughts, seemed to have temporarily lost the ability to function.  The cramped quarters of the backseat were suddenly magnified, practically demanding that she and Chandler sit closely.  Fingers entwined, barely breathing, both avoided the gaze of the other, each worrying that any sort of eye contact would destroy the thin veil of impulsiveness that had brought them to this point.  She lightly stroked the inside of his wrist with her thumb, waiting nervously for the hotel to come into view.  When it finally did, they stumbled out of the vehicle and through the front doors.  Chandler gently urged her into the waiting elevator, anxiously anticipating what might happen once they reached their floor, but fully aware that he was racing against the theoretical clock, knowing that any second it was possible that she would decide they were making a mistake; He had a sneaking suspicion that, despite the growing feeling of fear in his stomach about what might come to be, he would be infinitely more disappointed if nothing happened at all.

As the elevator doors closed, he felt Rachel's eyes upon him.  "Chandler?"  Her voice was soft, tremulous.

He turned to face her, fear of rejection lining his face.  "Yes?"

She stared up at him, her eyes searching his.  "Are you sure…?"

He exhaled slowly, edging closer to her, resisting the urge to hit the Stop button and press her up against the elevator wall with his entire body.  Instead, he settled one hand against the wall beside her head and leaned into her.  "Are _you _sure?"

She bit her lower lip, taking far too long to answer for Chandler's liking.  "I don't…is this crazy?" she whispered.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, willing her to stay calm and give him a chance. "Yeah, maybe, a little crazy.  But…"

"…I don't want to stop."  The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth, and he felt the warmth of relief wash over him, only realizing at that very moment just how terrified he had been that she would change her mind.  He traced the outline of her jaw and drew a long, shaky breath.  "Rach, I…"  

She pushed her mouth up into his and all hope for intelligent thought evaporated.  He felt her soft moan vibrate against his lips and he collapsed into her, tasting her, savoring the intoxicating vanilla of her shampoo, the glossy feel of her hair between his fingers.  When the elevator doors opened onto their floor, he pulled back reluctantly.  

Rachel let him lead her towards the rooms, pressing the back of her hand against her swollen lips.  Her cheeks were aflame with desire and surprise – surprise at her visceral reaction to Chandler's kiss.  She had a vivid memory of her first real kiss with Ross, of laughing as his hands grazed her bottom.  Somehow, right now, despite the similarities in the situation, she didn't think she had ever felt less amused.  All she could think about was Chandler, Chandler's hands in her hair, Chandler's breath on her face…

They paused between their respective doors.  "Uh…your place or mine?"  His feeble attempt at a joke sounded forced, even to his own ears.

"Yours," Rachel breathed.  "Joey is definitely more likely to be late coming back than Monica is."

Seeing her logic, Chandler keyed into his room and ushered her inside.  He locked the door securely behind them and turned to find Rachel standing beside his bed, looking somewhat uncertain as to how to continue.  He approached her slowly, stepping out of his shoes along the way.  When finally he stood in front of her, she reached up to tentatively stroke his jaw with her right hand, enjoying the sandpapery scratchiness of his five o'clock shadow.  He visibly relaxed into her feather-soft touch, smiling crookedly, watching her through half-closed eyelids.  With his pupils dilated so fully, his normally sparkling blue eyes were now a dark cobalt, thickly hazed with desire.  He lowered his mouth to hers, hesitantly at first, his tongue teasing her lower lip, tracing it gently, provocatively.  He groaned when her lips parted, his heart pounding in his throat; he took her top lip between his teeth, gently, and the stark contrast between animal desire and heartbreaking tenderness nearly sent her careening over the edge.

Rachel felt her legs weakening, and raised one knee, and then the other, wrapping them around his thighs, pressing him down onto the bed, draping her arms around his neck.  His hands roamed her back freely, tracing torturously slow invisible circles between her shoulder blades, until finally he hooked his thumb under the spaghetti strap on her shoulder.  Panting, he grudgingly tore his mouth away from hers and dragged the fabric downward, following it with his mouth, leaving a burning trail of kisses behind.  Rachel made a noise deep in her throat, threading her fingers through his hair and urging him onward.  She marveled at the new knowledge before her: She knew, somehow, that if all women could see this Chandler, this highly desirable, sexually-charged side of him, that there was no possible way he would still be single; some incredibly lucky woman would have snatched him up years ago.

Then her hands were tearing at his jacket, impatiently relieving him of the coarse boundary between her skin and his; his tie quickly followed.  Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white shirt, she slid her hands against the heated skin of his chest.  He moaned deeply as her hands explored him, gliding over his shoulders, stretching the garment so cruelly denying her full access to his body.  His mouth moved back up over her shoulder, his breath hot against the pulse point in her neck.  His slight beard tickled her jaw line as he whispered erotic promises into her ear, causing her stomach to tingle and her fingernails to dig into his shoulders.  

He eased her over onto her back, supporting himself on one arm, his free hand never leaving her body.  His fingers danced along her thigh, inching closer and closer to the raised hem of her dress.  She arched her hips, unable to restrain herself.  He smiled teasingly, one corner of his mouth lifting at her evident excitement.  "What's the matter, Rach?" he rasped.  "Is there something I can do for you?"  He skimmed his palm slowly toward her skirt, the heat of it making her gasp with surprise.  Tauntingly, he came within mere millimeters of her hemline and then skipped over to the other leg, moving farther away, toward her knee.

"Chand – _leeerrr…_" she whined.  "_Please…"  _

"What is it?" he whispered, slowing his fingers further, torturing her inner thigh.  "What do you want?"

"_Please_," she gasped.__

Chandler chuckled softly in disbelief, not entirely convinced that he wasn't dreaming; he was sure he had never seen anyone so beautiful, so sexy, in his entire life, and here she was, right in front of him, breathless with desire.   Lowering his face to hers, he covered her mouth with his once more, swallowing her moans, stroking the velvety softness of her tongue with his own.  His hand trailed upward, slipping underneath her skirt, searching – 

Knock knock knock.

Rachel tensed, but Chandler pretended not to have heard.  His fingers found the waistband of her panties, grasped it, started to pull – 

_Knock knock knock.  _"Chandler?  Are you in there?"  Monica's voice was pleading.

Chandler broke his kiss with Rachel to swear.  "God _damnit, _do you think she plans this shit?!"

Rachel whimpered, clearly as unhappy with the interruption as he.  "What – how – we, we have to open the door.  She'll find out that we're here, she'll wonder why we didn't answer…"

"But maybe – maybe we were just passed out!  I mean, you saw us at dinner – we were _really _wasted!  So why couldn't we just have passed out?"

Rachel ran her fingers through his hair, trying to steady her breathing.  "Chandler.  When was the last time you and a female friend got _so_ drunk that you passed out together in _your _hotel room, after not having done _anything _out of the ordinary, and you were both _so _passed out that you couldn't hear someone knocking on the door??"

He bit his lip.  "Tonight?"

Her semi-amused expression told him that his logic wouldn't work.  Cursing, he sat up, pulling her along with him.   Buttoning his shirt hastily, he motioned towards the remote control with his head.  Rachel grabbed it and hit the power button, willing her breathing to slow down.  _Calm down, girl.  Be cool.  _She smoothed her dress and plopped down into one of the club chairs by the window, faking deep interest in the rerun of _The Simpsons _playing on television. 

Chandler drew several calming breaths before opening the door.  Trying to mask his irritation, he turned the knob and raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise.  "Monica!  Wh – what's up?"

"Chan'ler!  I wash just abou' to leave…what took you sho long?"   She peered around him, trying to see into the room.

"Sorry…we – we barely heard you knocking…"

"We?  Ish Joey here??!"

Exhaling, Chandler opened the door to let her into the room.  "No, no, Joey's not here.  It's just me and Rachel.  I thought he was with you?"

"No…I lost him somewhere at th' party…though' maybe he ha' come back here…"

Chandler turned back into the room, headed towards the other chair by the window.  "Nope, I haven't seen him since we left the hall.  He probably just met some girl and went home with her.  I wouldn't worry about him."

Rachel watched Monica closely, noting the small frown that appeared on her face at Chandler's words.  "Mon, are you OK?"

Monica laughed, a little too loudly.  "Me?  Yeah!  I'm fine, I'm _great_!  Ross ish getting _married _tomorrow!  I'm _thrilled!  _I'm uh, I'm jus' a li'l tired.  Too mush wine, whoooo!  I think I'm jus' gonna go to bed…I'll, uh, I'll see you guys tomorrow…" As she closed the door, Rachel distinctly heard a sniffle.

She exchanged a worried glance with Chandler.  "I think I'd better go after her.  She was really upset last night…I just don't think she should be alone."

Chandler nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.  "Of course.  Go."  He followed her to the door, leaning down to turn the knob for her.  He pressed a kiss into her hair.  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

Rachel avoided his gaze as she stepped into the hallway, knowing that if she looked up into those beautiful blue eyes, she wouldn't be able to leave.  "Yes.  Of course.  The wedding."  Staring at the floor, she squeezed his hand.  "See you there.  Good night."

Chandler watched her slip into her own room, never once looking him in the eye.  Sighing, he closed the door.  _Well, that has to be a record, _he thought.  _Usually they at least wait until *after* we've had sex to start ignoring me.  _Angrily, he tore at the buttons on his shirt, threw himself down onto the bed in frustration.  _You should have known better than to think she'd really want you, if she had any time to think about it.  She was probably just using you as a way to get Ross off of her mind._

He wriggled out of his pants and yanked the covers back on the bed.  He willed himself not to think about the look on her face when he'd touched her leg.  _"Chandler…please!!" _He groaned at the memory of her voice and buried his face in the pillow.  _It's gonna be a long night._

***

Oh, hi!  Yeah, no, I'm just sitting here, listening to Ben Folds, waiting for you to finish reading this and leave me a review.  You're gonna leave a review, right?  RIGHT??!?


	4. Shall I Go On?

A/N:  I have slightly edited the amount of alcohol consumed by Rachel and Chandler in Chapter 3, because, as Exintaris pointed out, 'several bottles' probably would have killed them, and as Vikki mentioned, they sobered up rather quickly considering how much they'd supposedly had to drink.****

I'd like to send a heartfelt thank you out to Earl Grey Tea and the musical stylings of Sarah McLachlan, without either of which I would never have completed this chapter, which, as you all know, I very nearly did not.

Some dialogue from this chapter taken from Episodes 423-4 and 501.****

**Disclaimer: **[Insert your own witty comment here.  Be sure to point out that I'm in no way associated with _Friends_ or any money made on it.  Or any money, period, really.]

**Chapter 4:**

**Shall I Go On?**

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and early – too early – for Rachel.  Monica had been unresponsive to her prodding the night before; acting belligerent and completely unwilling to discuss whatever it was that had upset her.  Rachel had pressed Monica for answers, until finally the Geller temper emerged.  Clearly angry at Rachel's refusal to let the subject drop, Monica had thrown on a jacket and stormed out of the room.  Rachel had considered following after her, but ultimately decided against it, afraid that it would only worsen Monica's dark disposition.  Cursing her decision to leave things unfinished between Chandler and herself, Rachel had grudgingly changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed.  

Not surprisingly, sleep had been elusive, and after a half hour of tossing and turning, she'd given up.  Determinedly, she'd rolled out of bed, slipped her feet into her slippers, pocketed her key card and stepped out into the hallway.  She'd just extended her hand to tap on Chandler's door when she heard voices from around the corner – voices that _definitely_ belonged to Monica and Joey.  Feeling as if she was about to be caught doing something against the rules, Rachel had dashed back across the hall and flung open the door to her own room.  Frantically, she dove under the covers and flipped off the bedside lamp.  She had squeezed her eyes shut and waited several minutes, expecting Monica to burst into the room at any moment.  

But even after several long moments, nothing had happened.

Her rush of adrenaline wore off quickly, and she found herself yawning as the red numbers on the alarm clock seemed to burn into her corneas.  Eventually, she'd fallen into a fitful, unsatisfying slumber, visions of Chandler parading unabashedly through her subconscious.  Several times, she awoke on the verge of tiptoeing across the hall, but, frustratingly, Joey's return to the room had trapped her in her own, suddenly very lonely, bed.  

More awake now, Rachel allowed herself a moment to remember the teasing sound of Chandler's voice as he'd playfully tormented her.  _"What's the matter, Rach?"_  Trying to ignore the tingle that rippled through her midsection at the memory, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself upright.  The invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee was wafting through the room though, predictably, Monica was nowhere to be found.  Rachel bent forward, stretching her fingers toward the foot of the bed, trying to shake off the exhaustion that threatened to keep her in bed for several more hours.  Noting that it was already after 8, she reluctantly pushed herself to her feet and slogged over to the coffee pot.  

*** 

Across the hall, Chandler had also awoken, less than rested, to the sight of an empty room.  He'd gone immediately to the shower and stood under the scalding water, berating himself for letting things get out of hand with Rachel.  His conscience was less than sympathetic.  _You knew you were setting yourself up for disappointment, man.  _Swearing under his breath, he wrenched a clean towel from the rack and dried himself roughly.  A little unsure as to the schedule for the morning, he threw on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt and made his way over to the telephone to call Ross.  He had just dialed the number when he heard a knock at the door, forcing him to hang up before anyone had a chance to answer.

He was shocked to find Rachel smiling at him from the hallway.  "Mornin'…"  She peered curiously into the room.  "Is Joey here?" she mouthed, silently.

Perplexed, he shook his head in response.  "I guess he went for breakfast."  At her sleepy grin, he felt the corners of his mouth tugging upward against his will.  

"Here," she began, a bit shyly.  "I thought you might want some coffee.  That is, if your night was anything like mine."  He gratefully accepted the proffered cup and then moved aside, inviting her into the room.  He watched, still confused, as she trudged past him, dragging her sock feet drowsily.  He couldn't help but find himself charmed by the way her slightly disheveled hair floated around her head in a honey-colored cloud.  

Still unable to find any words, he followed her into the room, closing the door behind him.  She wandered over to the window and looked out over the London skyline.  "I may as well have stayed here last night, you know.  Drunk Monica got mad at me and stormed off." She sipped her coffee, deliberating about how much to say.  "I started to come back over here, but she must have run into Joey.  They were coming around the corner as I was about to knock on your door."

Chandler stared into his cup of coffee, unsure how to respond.  At his continued silence, she turned.  "Chandler?  What's wrong?"

He met her eyes across the room, skeptically.  "You mean, you really…you really only left last night because of…because of Monica?"

Rachel's brow wrinkled.  "Well, yeah…why else would I have - ?"  Realization spread across her face.  "You thought I was making _excuses?_"

"No!  Well…yes."

She chuckled at his expression.  "Chandler!  Were you _here _last night?  I mean, I'm no expert, but what happened was pretty intense…there was, there was _begging _involved!  Remember?"

The last icy chunk of his resolve melted away, and he welcomed the warm rush of relief as it settled over him.  "Well, I didn't know…I mean, we'd both had a lot to drink…I would have understood if you'd, you know.  Come to your senses."

She paused, watching his face closely.  "Did you…ahem.  Did _you _come to _your _senses?"

He set his cup of coffee down beside the television, crossed over to her in two long strides and crushed her against his chest, reveling in the scent of her shampoo as it pervaded his brain and muddied his thoughts.  "I have no senses to speak of."

Rachel stared up at him for a long moment, smiling coyly, before backing away.  "This would be a really appropriate moment for some kissin', but seeing as I haven't yet made use of my toothbrush, I'd better stop us now.  12 hours, um, _together_, is hardly long enough for you to be subjected to any non-freshness."

"We'd better change the subject, then, and fast, or else…"  He grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I was actually just about to call Ross, but do you happen to know what the schedule is for today?"

"Well, as a guest who isn't in any way affiliated with the ceremony itself, I personally have no schedule.  But I think I heard Monica say something about you guys being at the hall by 12:00."

"Well, then, it looks like I've got two hours until I have to get ready.  Wanna go get some breakfast?"

"Absolutely.  Let me just go get dressed."

***

Thirty minutes later, while Chandler ordered bagels and coffee at a nearby café, Rachel found a small table outside on the sidewalk and laid Chandler's copy of the previous evening's _The Times _in front of his empty seat.  While she waited for him, she reflected on the sudden and unexpected turn of events.  She had always thought of Chandler as merely a friend; just some guy in her circle of friends.  She'd never considered him in any sexual manner, and logic dictated that such a change in their relationship would feel strange, abnormal.  Contrarily, she realized, it felt nothing of the sort – different, yes, surprising, definitely – but mainly, it felt _natural_.  She had approached his door that morning nervously, apprehensively, expecting something akin to mild embarrassment or perhaps even regret.  Instead, at the sight of his face, she had registered only excitement and an interesting new level of affection.

Trying not to dwell too much on her memory of the previous evening, she twisted an errant strand of hair around her forefinger and watched as tourists and Londoners alike strolled leisurely past her table.  The sun had yet to burn through the clouds of early morning, and the air was still quite chilly.  She pulled her jacket more tightly around herself as she noticed Chandler pushing his way through the door of the café.  She smiled to herself as she watched him balance the small tray bearing their light breakfast, and stood to take the steaming mugs of coffee off for him.  After he'd discarded the tray at the closest trash can, he returned to the table and separated the front page from the rest of the newspaper.  With his attention focused elsewhere, Rachel took advantage of the opportunity to admire him from under her lowered eyelashes.  Already absorbed in some article, he absentmindedly spread cream cheese across his bagel and raised it halfway to his mouth, pausing in mid-air as he read.  She marveled at the striking azure of his eyes, the elegant line of his jaw, the slight asymmetry of his features.  A longish piece of his hair had fallen forward across his forehead, and she stopped herself just short of reaching out to brush it away.  In desperate need of something to occupy her hands, she ripped open a packet of sugar and emptied it into her coffee.  Chandler looked up from his reading at the sound, pushed the remaining newspaper in her direction.  "Here, Rach, did you want some of this?"

She pulled her bagel towards her.  "No, thanks, I'm fine.  I'm not quite awake enough yet to absorb anything about world events."  He grinned sympathetically and turned his attention back to his article.  Not wanting to be caught staring at him, Rachel feigned interest in the passersby.

Chandler moved his eyes slowly back and forth across the page and wondered if Rachel was really convinced that he was reading.  He couldn't care less about Emperor Akihito's recent visit to Britain, but he didn't trust himself to carry on a normal conversation with her at the moment.  So he pretended to read.  After what seemed the appropriate amount of time, he flipped over a few pages as if searching for the continuance of the story.

His mind was reeling; he couldn't stop dwelling on the fact that she really hadn't left the previous night because she had become uncomfortable or changed her mind.  He was having trouble focusing on any single thought – his brain leapt from one point of interest to the next: the knowledge that she, too, had lain awake after leaving his room; the way the mild bite of the morning air had charmingly reddened her cheeks and nose; the idea of what might happen later, if they had time together, alone…

_Stop it!  Read your paper!_

***

The seats were already filling up when Rachel arrived at the hall several hours later.  Her eyes darted around the space until they settled on Chandler, helping an elderly woman to her seat near the front.  He turned back in her direction after completing his task; his face lit up as their eyes met, sending a rush of warmth straight down to her toes.  He all but jogged back down the aisle in an effort to reach her before Joey, who was already headed back to the rear of the building.  Smiling at her conspiratorially, he edged Joey out of the way and led her slowly towards her seat beside one of Ross' cousins.  "Big day, huh?  Can you believe it?  Ross?  Some British chick we barely know?  Getting married?"

She grinned.  "I know!  It feels strange, but he seems really excited, so…"  Ross noticed her for the first time and waved inconspicuously from his position beside the minister.  She smiled warmly back at him and squeezed Chandler's arm.  "So, I guess I'll see you after the ceremony?"  

"You bet."  He winked at her and returned to the rear of the hall.

***  
Chandler knew he should be paying attention to the ceremony, but despite his best efforts, his eyes kept drifting over to Rachel, who wasn't helping matters by gazing back at him flirtatiously from behind her silky curtain of hair.  The dress she was wearing plunged dangerously low in the front, and his increasing desire to see what lay beneath the V of the neckline was occupying more of his thoughts than it should have been at such a time.  The sound of Ross and Emily's vows floated in and out of his realm of concentration.

Emily was repeating the minister's words.  "Take thee Ross..."  

_God, hurry up!  _He knew it was selfish and disrespectful, but all he could concentrate on was the thought of the reception, and the possibility that he and Rachel could slip away, maybe with a bottle of wine from behind the open bar…

"Now Ross, repeat after me. I, Ross..."

"I, Ross…"

…Joey would almost certainly be tied up with some random girl, and he and Rachel could have the room to themselves for a while, maybe long enough to finish what they'd started the night before…

"Take thee, Emily..."

"Take thee, Rachel..."

Chandler swung his head towards Ross in mild confusion.  The only immediate explanation he could come up with was that his own thoughts had become intertwined with Ross' words.  He turned back to look at Rachel again, and it was only when he saw the aghast expression on her face that he realized he had not, in fact, misheard.

"Emily!" Ross looked uncomfortable and more than a little confused himself.  "Emily."

The tension was palpable.  The minister alternated his startled gaze between the bride and groom.  "Uh...Shall I go on?"

Emily stared at Ross, cheeks aflame, eyes wide, apparently unsure about how to respond.  Finally, she seemed to make a decision, and said, "Yes, yes, do go on."

The minister, clearly in unfamiliar territory, looked down at his Bible and took a deep breath.  "Perhaps we'd better start again."  He cleared his throat.  "I, Ross, take thee, _Emily…_"

Ross swallowed hard.  "I, Ross…"  He paused.  "I, Ross…"

Emily tilted her head slightly to one side, nervously, her eyes shining with embarrassment and hurt.  "Ross?"

He gripped her hands tightly, seeming to battle with himself.  Their eyes burned into one another for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke again.

"I can't.  I can't do this.  Emily, I – "

Without a word, Emily wrenched her hands from his grasp, pulled the hem of her dress up to mid-calf, and darted down the aisle and out of the hall.  The guests all sat in a stunned silence for several seconds until Jack Geller stood and made his way to the front of the church.  He and Ross exchanged a wordless look, and Ross hurried after his fiancé.

"Well, folks, ah…"  Jack shifted nervously from one foot to the other.  "I'm not sure what to say…"

Emily's father jumped to his feet, irate.  "I do!  Your son is a manipulative bastard!  Look what he's done to my Emily!"

"Now, you listen here, you son of a bitch," Jack began.  Before things could get out of hand, the minister intervened.  

"Gentlemen, please!  There's no need to argue.  Mr. Geller and Miss Waltham will sort this out on their own.  A fistfight between their fathers won't do them any good."

The levity of the situation seemed to descend upon the two men, and both fell awkwardly silent.  The guests began murmuring amongst themselves, and then, slowly, uncertainly, started to rise from their seats and exit the hall.

Joey turned to Chandler, anxiously.  "Dude…what the hell was _that?!_"

Chandler barely heard him.  His mind was on Rachel, who hadn't moved from her seat.  She locked gazes with him, unfocused, bewildered.  She seemed to become aware all at once that several sets of eyes were upon her, and abruptly jumped to her feet.  He took several steps in her direction, but before he could reach her, she had pushed her way through the crowd of people and disappeared into the blinding midday sunlight.

***

A/N:  I know, I know it's short.  I apologize for making you wait so long for such a short update, but I had to stop where I did.  I promise the next one won't take as long.  That is, if you still want me to continue…


	5. Suspicious Minds

**_A/N:  _**_It's hard to believe, but I can't think of anything to say here!  Except, oh!  Thanks again, Sam!  You rock!!  And thanks especially to everyone for the wonderful reviews.  You guys make my heart smile!****_

****

**Disclaimer:  **I don't own 'em.  I'll show you my bank statement if you don't believe me.

**Chapter 5:**

**Suspicious Minds**

Rachel tripped on a loose cobblestone and, grimacing, hopped on one foot at a time while removing her ridiculously high heels.  Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she forced her way through the obnoxiously slow lines of tourists meandering along the sidewalks of London.  With no clear destination in mind, she ran, her mind reeling at the sudden turn of events.  She knew she must look ridiculous to the faces streaking past her, but her level of humiliation was already too high to allow for any increase.

**_"_**_I Ross, take thee, Rachel…thee, Rachel…Rachel…"_  The words thrummed in her brain like a malevolent bass line.  _I shouldn't have come, I should have stayed in New York with Phoebe…this is all my fault._  The self-berating thoughts pounded behind her eyes, heightening her sense of guilt and embarrassment.  A stitch in her side made it necessary for her to stop running, to rest for a moment, and as she stood, panting, in an unfamiliar section of an unfamiliar city, she realized that her cheeks were wet.  _Oh, God, poor Emily._  She bent at the waist and clutched her stomach, a dry sob threatening to erupt from her chest. 

Taking several long breaths, she swiped at her face with her hands and pushed her hair back out of her eyes.  Sniffling, she stuck out her hand as a taxi approached, but soon realized that she'd left her purse behind at the hall.  _God.  Damn it.  _The cab driver looked at her quizzically as she stepped back and waved him on.  She refused to return to the hall.  _All those people.  _

_Oh, God.  Chandler.  He probably doesn't know *what* to think._

Dejected, Rachel turned back in the direction she had come, searching the crowd of faces for someone who looked like a local, dreading the long, lonely walk back to the hotel.  

***

Chandler sat in the back of the cab, squeezed tightly between Joey and the door.  He turned away from the sound of Monica's high-pitched chattering and pressed his forehead against the foggy window.  He clutched Rachel's bag and scanned the passing sidewalks, wondering where she had gone, what was going on in her head.  The memory of her brightly flushed cheeks as she fled the hall seemed to have branded itself onto his brain.  He knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was that had almost happened with them was now completely out of the question, and he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.  The pain caused by the unspoken ending seemed somehow inappropriate, considering how brief the whole affair – if it could even be called that - had been, but there was no denying the sensation of loss in his chest.

"Chandler?  Did you hear me?  Hello?"

Dazed, he turned toward Monica's voice.  "No, I'm sorry.  What?"

"I said, did you see the look on Rachel's face?"

"Yeah, I saw."  He swallowed hard, trying not to think about it.

"She looked pretty shocked, wouldn't you say?"

Unable to bring himself to answer such a mundane question, he merely nodded and turned back to the window.  Unfazed, Monica droned on.

"I think it's for the best, really.  I mean, come on!  We all knew that Ross was being too hasty.  It's obvious that he still has feelings for Rachel.  And clearly, she still has feelings for him.  Why else would she have run off like that?"

Joey seemed unconvinced.  "I don't know, Monica.  I mean, put yourself in her shoes.  If that had been me, I woulda wanted to get out of there as fast as I could, too.  She was probably pretty embarrassed, you know?"

Joey's surprisingly logical reasoning sparked a tiny glimmer of hope inside Chandler.  _Of course she was embarrassed – who wouldn't have been?  _

"Yeah, maybe," Monica acquiesced.  "Still, I don't know.  I talked to her night before last about the whole Ross-getting-married thing.  She _said_ she was okay with it, but she still seemed a little down.  Remember, she didn't want to go to dinner with us?  Said she'd rather stay in the room, by herself."  She paused.  "Chandler, you hung out with her.  Did she act upset?"

Chandler remembered bumping into Rachel in the hallway.  _"I, too, find myself oddly without the urge to wander aimlessly about London for God-knows-how-long…"_  He himself had immediately attributed her reluctance to go out to her distress about the wedding.  He suddenly felt tense, irritable.  

"How would I know?  We aren't that close," he snapped.

Monica shrugged and leaned back against the seat.  "Well, whatever.  I think those two will end up together.  I've always thought that."

Releasing his grip on Rachel's purse, Chandler yanked his tie loose and cursed his luck.  _Thank God I still have that pack of cigarettes._

***

Rachel hobbled along a small side street, her feet aching, the muscles in her legs screaming from her earlier exertion.  According to the directions she'd gotten from a slightly dodgy street vendor, she knew she should be approaching familiar territory by now, but she had yet to recognize anything.  Being lost in the middle of London for two hours had taken her mind off of her present situation for a little while, but her exhaustion was bringing everything back in full force.  All she wanted was to take a shower and sleep for the next week.  Unfortunately, her flight back to New York first thing in the morning prevented any real chance for avoidance.  She paused to rub the bottom of her right foot and used the opportunity to shed her ruined stockings.  Stuffing them into the toe of one of her shoes, she pressed on, hoping against hope that the street in front of her would turn out to be one she knew.

Emerging from the quiet alley into another shopping district, she immediately recognized the café where she and Chandler had breakfasted that morning.  Breathing a long sigh of relief, she turned to her right and suppressed the urge to cry with joy at the sight of the hotel looming a few blocks ahead.  _Just a few more minutes, old girl.  Then you can climb into the shower and weep to your little heart's content.  _Straightening her spine, she tossed the discarded pantyhose into a nearby trashcan, stuffed her swollen, burning feet back into the vile shoes and pressed on toward the hotel with purpose.

***

A long ten minutes later, Rachel knocked on the door to her hotel room.  _Please, Monica, be here, please….  _When the door swung open, she nearly collapsed with happiness.  "Oh, thank God.  I left my purse at the…place…and I was worried you wouldn't be here and I would have to sit out in the hall and – oh!  I'm just so glad you're here."

Monica made sounds of sympathy as Rachel limped into the room and kicked her shoes off.  "I never want to see those things again."

"Where the hell have you been, anyway?" Monica inquired.  "We've been worried sick about you!"

 "Oh, you know.  Roaming the streets of London, lost, humiliated.  Just your average Saturday afternoon, really."  She resisted the urge to fling herself across the bed and rummaged through her suitcase until she found a clean pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt.  "I'm gonna take a shower.  I feel like death."  She spied her purse on the bedside table.  "Oh, good, you brought it back."

"Yeah, Chandler grabbed it."

_Chandler.  _She felt herself welling up and turned away so that Monica wouldn't see.  "I'll have to thank him later."

Closing the bathroom door against Monica's prying eyes, Rachel released a long, shaky breath and turned the water on full strength.  Soon the room was filled with steam as she tried to relax under the stinging spray.  Her throat was dry and her eyes burned with unshed tears, but the breakdown she was expecting failed to arrive.  Just as she was beginning to question her own sanity, she heard a tapping at the bathroom door.  "Yeah?"

Monica stuck her head into the room.  "Um, Rach?  I'm sorry to interrupt, sweetie, but Ross just called, and I'm gonna go over to his hotel for the night.  Do you need anything before I leave?"

_Yeah, _she thought.  _My pride, or, better yet, a time machine.  _She kept it to herself.  "No, I'm fine.  I'll see you in the morning."

Monica said goodbye and closed the door, and Rachel rested her forehead against the shower wall.  _What a fucking mess.  _She knew it couldn't be later than 5:30 or so, but her sleepless night and long trek through the city had caught up with her; she quickly lathered herself up and rinsed off, dried hastily and climbed into her pajamas.  She opened the bathroom door, releasing a puff of steam into the bedroom, and padded over to put the chain on the door.  Pulling back the covers on her bed, she exhaled blissfully as her bare feet touched the cool, smooth sheets.  

Flipping off the lamp on the bedside table, she stacked her pillows on top of one another and stared off into the unfamiliar darkness of the hotel room.  Unbidden, Ross' face floated into her mind.  She wondered what his afternoon must have been like.  No doubt he'd had to face the wrath of two sets of parents in addition to whatever Emily might have had to say to him – provided he'd been able to catch up with her.  _If only I'd stayed in New York.  None of this would have happened._

_You don't know that, _her reasonable voice chided.  _Ross is a grown man.  You can't take the blame for this._

Despite the undeniable logic, she couldn't help but remember the look on Emily's face, as she stood there, in front of her family and friends, and watched all of her plans slip through her fingertips.

Rachel could sympathize.  She herself was no stranger to heartbreak.

Feeling deflated, guilt-ridden, and very much alone, she turned onto her stomach, buried her face in her pillows, and finally wept.

***

Chandler stared at the television screen without really seeing it, listening to Joey, who was on the telephone with Phoebe, briefing her on the events of the afternoon.  "Yeah, I know, it's crazy.  No, Monica was going over to his hotel."  He paused, listening.  "I'm not sure what she's doing.  Monica said she was pretty beat.  Yeah, we'll check on her later."  He absentmindedly wrapped the telephone cord around his finger.  "So you'll meet us at the airport?  …OK, see you tomorrow, Pheebs."  He hung up the phone and turned to Chandler.  "Dude, I'm starving.  I was expecting all kinds of wedding food so I didn't eat much at breakfast.  You wanna go get some dinner?"

Chandler considered.  He wasn't the slightest bit hungry, but he didn't really want to sit in the room all night, alone, dwelling on what might have been.  Maybe Joey would help take his mind off of everything.  "Yeah, let's go."  He pulled a jacket on over his t-shirt and poked his feet into his sneakers.  Following Joey into the hallway, he found himself listening intently for any sound from Rachel's room.  None came.  Sighing inwardly, he fell reluctantly in step beside his roommate.

***

Dinner was a long, drawn-out affair, with Joey dragging his feet about every decision, from where to eat, to what to drink, to what entrée to order, to whether or not to have dessert – none of which Chandler cared about in the least.  By the time they finally exited the restaurant, it was after 8:00 and Chandler was out of cigarettes.  He found a small sort of convenience store during the walk back and bought a fresh pack, smoking two all the way to the filter before they reached the hotel.  Both men were quiet on the way up to their room, and as Chandler stuck his keycard into the lock, he heard Joey tapping on Rachel's door.  Unsure of what to do, Chandler stood in his open doorway and waited to see if she would answer.  A minute passed before the knob turned and a bleary-eyed Rachel appeared.

"Hey, guys."  

"Hey, Rach," Joey began, his brow furrowed.  "Sorry if we woke you up.  We just wanted to see if you were alright."

She sighed, running both hands through her rumpled hair.  "Yeah, I'm OK."  Her eyes sought Chandler's, unsuccessfully.  He seemed to be looking at everything _except _her.  "You didn't really wake me up.  I thought I could sleep, but I've just been tossing and turning."

"Can we get you anything?  Have you had dinner?"  Joey's voice was laced with concern.  

"Ah, no, I'm not hungry.  I'm gonna go ahead and finish packing and then try my luck at sleeping again."  She paused for a moment.  "Thanks for bringing my bag with you, Chandler."  She searched his face for any sign of…anything, but detected nothing there.  He nodded curtly and turned away.

Joey, oblivious to the tension, offered Rachel a hug and bid her good night.  Following Chandler into their room, Joey shook his head.  "Poor Rachel."

Chandler scoffed.  "Yeah.  _Poor _Rachel."

Joey frowned at his roommate.  "Are you alright?  You were really quiet all through dinner."

Sighing, Chandler replied, "No, I'm fine.  This trip has been really…bizarre.  I think I'm just ready to go home.  Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so…."  

Chandler turned to his suitcase, missing the strangely sad expression on Joey's face.

***

Across the hall, Rachel turned her attention toward her messy suitcase.  Absentmindedly folding her clothes and stacking them inside the bag, she contemplated whether or not she should call Ross and apologize.  _It might just make matters worse, _she thought.  The fact that he had stopped the ceremony was troubling; _does it mean that he still has feelings for me?  _The idea was hard to swallow, considering how long it had been since the demise of their relationship.  He'd given her no signs that he still felt anything, not that she'd noticed, anyway.  As for herself, she had meant it when she'd told Monica that she was fine with him getting married, that she was moving on.  She still felt the odd twinge of affection towards him, but nothing like she'd felt a year before; she certainly wasn't _in love _with him any longer.  

When she had gotten the invitation to the wedding, Rachel had done some serious soul-searching.  For several days, she had asked herself how she would feel watching Ross and Emily exchange wedding vows: Would it be too uncomfortable?  Would she feel jealousy?  Would she spend the entire trip being miserable, thinking about what might have been?  Ultimately, she had decided that the answer to all of those questions was no.  Then, and only then, did she accept the invitation.  She never would have come if she thought there was any chance that she still harbored feelings for Ross.  It would have been way too hard, and she knew her limits at hiding her feelings; everyone would have seen through her.  She would not have risked spoiling Ross' wedding with her own emotional hang-ups.

Pushing her concerns about Ross' feelings to the back off her mind, she zipped up her bag and wandered into the bathroom to collect her toiletries.

As she dried off each of the bottles, she puzzled over Chandler's oddly distant behavior, wondering why he was so obviously angry with her.  Everything had been fine before the wedding, which meant that the only possible explanation was that he was upset about Ross' verbal error.  She found it strange that he would be _mad _at her about that.  _But if he isn't mad, then why wouldn't he look at me before?  Unless…._  

Rachel groaned.  It was all suddenly very clear.  *_He* thinks I'm still in love with Ross!_

She hurried into the bedroom, dropped the last of her toiletries into the side pocket of her suitcase and jammed her feet into her tennis shoes.  Grabbing her purse, she flung the door open and darted across the hall.  Trying not to be too obvious, she feigned nonchalance and rapped on the door.  She heard movement inside, and a moment later, a pajama-clad Joey appeared.  "Hey, Rach…what's up?"

"Hey…ah…whatcha…whatcha doin', Joe?"

He looked confused.  "Just watchin' a little television."

"With Chandler?"

Joey opened the door wider, motioning for her to come inside.  "No, Chandler's not here.  He finished packing and said he was going out for a little while."  He scratched his head.  "He seems weird tonight, I don't know what's up with him."

Rachel's heart sank.  _So I wasn't imagining it.  _Out loud, she said, "Do you know where he might have gone?"

Joey shook his head.  "I was in the shower, he stuck his head in and told me he was leaving.  I guess that was…fifteen, twenty minutes ago?"  His forehead wrinkled.  "He might have gone downstairs to smoke.  Maybe I'll go down there and check…."

"Oh, no, it's OK, Joey, I'll go.  I was just about to go down there anyway.  For ah, for something to eat.  I just thought I would check and see if you guys wanted anything before I went…but I just remembered, you already ate!  I'm an idiot!"  She backed towards the door.  "So I guess I'll see you in the morning?  Bright and early?"

Joey yawned.  "Sure thing, Rach.  See ya."

Rachel barely heard him.  In less than three minutes, she had changed into jeans and a t-shirt and was pressing the "down" button beside the elevator.  It seemed to take forever to arrive, and the ride down seemed even longer.  Hurriedly, she made her way across the lobby to the small hotel bar and pushed open the double doors.  _Please be here, please be here, please be - _she stopped short.  His back was turned to her, and a large cloud of smoke surrounded him, but it was definitely Chandler.  

She took a deep breath and approached him from behind.  "Hey, Smoky…"

He turned immediately, clearly surprised.  For a brief moment she saw something akin to relief in his eyes, but just as quickly, it disappeared.  "Hello."  He turned back to his drink, lit another cigarette.

She tossed her bag onto the bar and leaned against the stool beside him.  "Do you, ah, do you mind if I sit down?"

He shook his head, avoiding her gaze.  "Be my guest."

She swallowed hard, hoisted herself up onto the stool.  The bartender looked questioningly in her direction.  "Can I get you anything, miss?"

"Just an ice water, thanks."  She drummed her fingers on the bar top and waited for the drink, buying time, wondering what to say.  Chandler seemed determined to make her speak first.

The bartender delivered her water, eyeing the two of them curiously, sensing the tension.  She sipped the drink nervously as he walked away, unsure how to begin.  "So.  Earlier…that was crazy, huh?"

Chandler sneered.  "That's an understatement."

She smiled wanly.  "Yeah.  It is."  

He puffed on his cigarette.  "I thought you were going to bed."

Rachel exhaled shakily.  "I was.  But then I started wondering why you were upset with me.  It took me a while, but…"  She paused.  "Listen, Chandler.  I don't have any feelings for Ross."

He grunted, clearly unconvinced.  "Right."

"I'm serious, Chandler.  I wouldn't have come to London if I wasn't positive about that."  She toyed with the strap on her purse, twisting it around and around her index finger.  "I wouldn't have…kissed you, last night.  I swear."

He spun his head to gape at her.  "So you're telling me, that even after everything that's happened between you both, with the two of you going back and forth, back and forth, _back _and _forth;_ after you debated for an entire extra week before you bought your ticket for the flight over here; after all the 'We were on a break!!', 'No, we weren't!' stuff, that if Ross came to you, right here, right now, and said he loved you more than life itself, that you wouldn't consider taking him back for even a second?  Am I supposed to believe that?  That there are absolutely no feelings left there?  After the way you ran out of the hall today?  Come on, Rachel.  I'm not an idiot."

She frowned.  "Well, from where I'm sittin', you sure as hell look like one!"

He stubbed his cigarette out violently, glaring at her.  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!?"

"Chandler – last night, last night was…it was _amazing._  And we didn't even _do _anything.  I haven't felt anything that _intense _since_…_maybe _ever_!  And you think, what, that I was _using _you?  That I was _faking _it??!  I can't believe you would think that about me!!"  She stopped, suddenly afraid, and stared down into her glass.  "Unless…unless it didn't really mean anything to _you._"

Chandler sat ramrod straight, staring directly ahead.  "My feelings aren't the issue here."

Rachel slammed her glass down.  "Then please, tell me, what _is _the issue here?  Because I really don't understand!  Chandler, the _last _thing I was thinking about today, when I was wandering around this city, lost and alone and humiliated, was whether or not I'm still in love with Ross!  And if you can't take my word that I'm not, then that's _your_ fucking problem!  If you don't trust me on this now, then you never will!"  Rachel threw her purse over her shoulder and slid off of the barstool.  "I'm going up to my room.  That's where I'll be, if you decide that you want to talk about this like two civilized adults.  Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning."  Seething, Rachel turned on one heel and strode from the bar.  

Chandler hesitated for only a moment before following suit.

***

A/N:  You know the drill.  I'm waiting!! 


	6. Stay

A/N:  It took some work, but I have pulled myself out of my severe case of Post-Super Bowl Depression to bring you this update.  I hope you like it! 

**Disclaimer: **I checked my records, folks, several times; I really don't own 'em!  I know!  It sucks!!

**Chapter 6:**

**Stay**

Rachel slammed into the room and flung her purse against the wall.  "Arrrrgh!!"  Irate, she threw herself down onto the bed, then immediately jumped up again and began to pace, grumbling to herself angrily.  She had just settled into a verbose tirade against the intellectual inferiority of the male species when the banging started.  She toyed with the idea of ignoring it, but found her feet moving stubbornly towards the door.  She wrenched it open and spat, "_What!?_"

Chandler stood on the other side, frowning savagely.  He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at her.  "Can I come in?  Or are you gonna make me argue with you from out here in the hall?"

Fuming, she stepped back to allow him entrance.  "Look, Chandler, I already told you, I refuse to discuss this with you if you can't trust me.  What's the point?!"  
He stood in the middle of the room and shoved his hands into his pockets.  "Listen, I'm willing to admit that – _maybe _– I was a little presumptuous.   But come on – what the hell did you expect me to think, the way you ran out of there today?"

"What did I _expect_ you to think?  Oh, I don't know, maybe that I didn't particularly want to face Ross' parents after what had happened?  Or - or that maybe, just _maybe_, I was _unbelievably _embarrassed?_ Huh!?_   Why would you automatically assume that I ran out – what? – to avoid you?  Because I'm still in love with Ross?  Why?!"

Chandler threw his hands into the air in frustration.  "Well, why not??  It's what everyone _else_ assumed!!"

Rachel paused, forced herself to breathe.  "What?!?" she bit.

Chandler exhaled harshly.  "Yeah!  In the cab, on the way back here, all Monica could _talk _about was how you and Ross are 'meant to be together', and how she 'knew it all along'!  She's your _best _friend!  If anyone would know how you feel, it's Monica!!"

"So, just because _Monica _decided that she knows how my life is going to turn out, you decided to take that as the indisputable truth?  You decided to just forget about that amazing thing that happened between us last night?  You just threw that out the window, because stupid Ross said my name during his wedding vows, and I didn't stick around to see what his _family _would have to say to me about it?!?  Jesus, _Chandler_!!  Couldn't you have just checked with me first, before you went fucking ballistic and condemned our – _whatever _this is – to the electric chair??"

Chandler didn't seem to have any immediate response to her argument; he clenched his jaw and stared at the floor.  After a long moment, he mumbled, "It wasn't _just _because of what Monica said."

At his defeated tone, Rachel's temper began to ebb.  Sighing, she turned towards the coffee pot and methodically measured out several cups, filled the tank with water.  Flipping the switch, she turned back to face him.  "Well, then, what else?"

Chandler combed his fingers through his hair, rumpling it.  "You and Ross have – you know…all this, this _history._  He says your name instead of his fiancé's, and stops his _wedding_ – how can I compete with that?"

Rachel felt the last chunk of her anger dissolve, drift away.  "Chandler, sweetie, you just answered your own question.  What Ross and I _had, _it's just that – _history._  We tried it.  It didn't work.  It was a _nightmare_, in fact.  Don't you remember?  Singing bugs, imaginary affairs, copy girls?  Ringing a bell?  Am I supposed to carry the ghost of that relationship around my neck for the rest of my life?"

Chandler sighed and sank down onto one of the two small club chairs.  "No.  Of course not.  It's just, the rest of us, well, we've kind of spent the past year waiting for a Ross and Rachel Reunion Special.  You know?  It just seemed unavoidable."

She smiled faintly.  "You didn't seem to feel that way last night."

Chandler closed his eyes and leaned his head back, rested it against the wall.  "Last night, Ross was getting married.  This afternoon, not so much."

Grudgingly, reluctantly, Rachel conceded his point.  She put herself in his shoes, imagined how she would have felt, had the situation been reversed.  "All right, I'll grant you that.  Still, you could have come to me, waited to pass judgment until you'd heard what I had to say."  She turned back to the coffeepot, filled two mugs.  After adding the appropriate amount of sugar and cream, she carried both cups over to the room's one tiny table.  Sliding one cup towards Chandler, she settled down into the chair opposite him and tucked her bare feet up under herself.  

Chandler laced his fingers through the handle on the mug and raised it to his lips, blowing lightly over the surface in a habitual attempt to speed the cooling process.  He raised his eyes to hers apologetically.  "Truce?"

"Truce."  She cautiously sipped her own steaming beverage.  "Wanna start over?"

For the first time since he'd seated her before the ceremony, Chandler grinned.  "I think that's a great idea."  He looked down into his coffee, then back up at her, feigned surprise at the fact that she was sitting there.  "Rachel!  Hi!  Jeez, can you _believe _what happened this afternoon??"

She chuckled in spite of herself.  "I know!"

He set his mug down on the table, reached across to pat her arm, overemphasizing his concern for her.  "Are _you _okay?  That must have been really embarrassing for you."

She sighed heavily.  "You know, it really was.  But then I got a little exercise, a bit of jogging, a _lot _of limping, and after that, I felt a little bit better.  Thanks for asking!"

"Hey, _no _problem.  That's just the kind of guy I am."  

A comfortable silence settled over the two of them, the only sound that of the occasional noise from the room above.  After several quiet moments, Rachel found herself yawning, despite the caffeine.  Chandler appraised her with genuine sympathy.  "It's been a long day, huh, Rach?"

She smiled sleepily.  "It really has.  Early flight tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's almost 10:00…Monica should be back any minute, hassling us to hurry up and get our stuff together for the airport."  They shared a smile.

"Actually," Rachel looked around the room.  "Monica took her stuff with her to Ross'".

Chandler raised one eyebrow.  "Oh, _really?_"

"Really.  And, before I went downstairs to look for you, Joey was getting ready for bed."  

A slow smile spread across Chandler's face.  "He probably wouldn't miss me, if I didn't go back to the room right away."

"You think?"

"I do think."

"Well, then."

"Indeed."

Without a word, Rachel stood slowly and crossed to the door, locking it securely.  Walking over to the bed, she silently unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down to the floor.  At Chandler's stunned expression, a surge of feminine power crept through her.

"Chandler Bing, I think you and I are due for our first make-up session."

Chandler raised his eyebrows, affecting a look of extreme contrition.  "Well, in that case, I am very, _very _sorry." He stood and stuck his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet.

"Come on, Bing, are you gonna sit over there all night or what?"  Rachel put her hands on her hips, then laughed out loud as Chandler practically sprinted across the room to stand beside her.  Her lips curled into a smile as she slid her hands up over his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck.  "I'm sorry, too."

"Oh, you are soooo forgiven."  And then they were kissing, hungrily, breathlessly - the complete opposite of the night before, but it was everything Chandler remembered: intoxicating, electric, chemical…except that none of those words seemed remotely sufficient for the eruption of feelings Rachel's kiss awoke in him, feelings he wasn't aware even existed.  Her hands were at his waistband, fumbling clumsily with the button, relieving him of his pants, and then back up to his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed, pressing her thighs into either side of his hips and rendering him incapable of logical thought.  She moved against him, moaning into his neck, pushing him to the extreme outer limits of his restraint, and he took control of the situation, rolling her over until she was on her back beneath him, never taking his hands or his mouth off of her.    
His hands went under her t-shirt, stroking, teasing, reveling in the silky feel of her skin against his fingertips, enjoying her quick intake of breath as he skimmed her body.  Suddenly it wasn't enough to touch her, he wanted to see her, all of her; he moved to her side and tugged the t-shirt up and over her head.  As he stared down at her, some sort of primal instinct took hold of him.  He felt the unmistakable need to _possess _her, to somehow brand her as his own.  "You are so, so, so beautiful, Rach.  I – "

She silenced him with another kiss, pulling him down, down, deep into the fog of Rachel-ness.  He was drowning, engulfed in her eyes, her smell, her taste – everything about her - and still it wasn't enough; he wanted more, he wanted it all.  She wriggled up onto her side, tugged at the buttons of his shirt, peeled it away from his chest, and then they were pressed together again, the only barrier between them their underwear - the soft silk of hers; the thin, flimsy cotton of his.

He felt drunk, the world around them seeming to fade away, the only sound the tattoo of his own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in his head that he was certain she could hear it as well.  She was smothering him in kisses, on his face, his neck, across his chest; he buried his face in the top of her head and just inhaled, closing his eyes with pleasure as he took in the heady bouquet of her tropical-scented shampoo.  "Rachel…Rachel…Rachel…" he murmured, over and over, into her hair, relishing the familiar but newly exotic feel of her name as it rolled off of his tongue, the strong surge of closeness he felt to her, in sharing something secret with her, something no one else was privy to.

_Except Ross._

His heart jumped up into his throat and his stomach did a nasty cartwheel.  _Yeah, you heard me!  What are you doing?_  _Ross is your friend! _ He wanted to stifle the little voice – which sounded strangely like Joey's – he wanted to destroy it, make it go away forever, but even as he despised it, he knew they had to slow down, before they did something that at least one of them would feel guilty about later.  Regardless of Rachel's feelings toward Ross, or lack thereof, they had to consider how Ross would feel.  He hated it, abhorred the thought, but even still, he knew it was true.  Rachel, sensing the sudden change in his reaction to her, slowed her caresses and tilted her head towards his face, her eyes a question mark.  "Chandler?  What's wrong?"

He stared down into the azure pools of her eyes, tempted to forget about Ross and lose himself in her, but shook himself out of it before he had the chance to do so.  "We – "  His voice sounded hoarse, gravelly, and he cleared his throat.  "We have to stop, we have to slow down…I don't want to, _God, _Rach,I want to finish this, more than anything, but…"

She retreated from him, and, suddenly very aware of her nakedness, wrapped her arms around her chest, curled into a tiny ball at his feet, staring at him with the resignation of a child that had been caught with her hand inside the cookie jar.  "Ross."

As the sound of utter disappointment rang in her voice, he wanted to take it back, wanted to go back to that place they had been, mere seconds before, that place that was theirs alone, where no one could disturb them, no one could intrude.  He steeled himself against his own feelings, curled his fists into tight balls, resisting the urge to touch her, to comfort her, to make her understand everything he was feeling, the insane, unbelievable intensity of it, a feeling even he could not yet wrap his mind around.

Chandler sat up, crossing his legs Indian-style, tucked one of the pillows across his lap.  Resting his elbows on his knees, he ran his fingers through his hair and hated himself; hated his conscience, hated his loyalty, hated Ross, hated the pillow, hated everything that was keeping him from being with her right that second.  He squeezed his eyes shut and wished with all of his heart that they were somewhere else, somewhere far away from this hotel room, this stupid foreign city, teeming with the harsh reality of the situation.  But when he reopened his eyes, Rachel was still staring at him with that same detached expression, her face still brimming with frustration and stark disillusionment.  He could see it though, could read in her eyes that she knew what he was thinking, that she understood, even if she didn't want to consider it, even if she loathed it as much as he.  So he did the only thing he could think of: he handed her her previously discarded shirt and began reluctantly buttoning his own.

Rachel clutched the wrinkled garment to her chest, hesitating.  "Stay."

His head snapped up, an argument on the tip of his tongue, but her pleading look silenced him.  Before he could regain his thoughts, she continued.  "Just stay.  We – we don't have to do anything, but I – I want you here with me, tonight.  I don't want to be alone.  It's silly…we're two mature, disciplined adults.  We can be together without…_being _together."  Her eyes searched his face, cajoling.  "Stay."

He knew he should disagree, reason with her.  He knew he should get up, right then, before he could change his mind, before his assaulted, abused senses allowed him to consider his own desires.  He knew he should leave, slink across the hall, sleep – or at least lie – in his own, cold, empty bed.

But he didn't.  

Instead, he turned to the nightstand and tapped the buttons on the alarm clock, clicking through the numbers until he found the ungodly hour he was looking for.  Then he unbuttoned his shirt once more, dropped it onto the floor beside the bed.  He pushed the rumpled covers down, slid his legs underneath the warm sheets, and opened his arms – and, he realized with a jolt, his _heart_ - to Rachel.

She tossed her shirt over onto the other bed and crawled right into his embrace.  Tucking the blanket around her protectively, he clicked off the bedside lamp, nuzzled his cheek against her forehead and sighed with a mixture of contentment and pure, undiluted torture.  

She rested her hand against his chest, her very touch seeming to burn right into his flesh.  "Good night, Chandler."

He swallowed, several times, searching for his voice.  When he found it, it was just a shadow of its former self, raspy, strained.  "'Night, Rach."  He pressed a kiss into her hair and relaxed against the nest of pillows, pulling her warm, satiny body closer to his own.  She sighed softly against his chest, and he listened for a long while, until her breath became deep and even, her back rising and falling rhythmically under his arm.  He willed his brain to stop working, to shut down for the night.  He counted sheep, he tensed and contracted his muscles, he tried to list all fifty states in his mind.  No matter what he did, his eyes stubbornly refused to stay shut, popping back open every time he closed them.  Defeated, he stared into the darkness of the room, wondering what morning would bring, until the first pink rays of Sunday's dawn began seeping through the curtains.

***

A/N:  Are you annoyed with me yet?  Am I dragging it out enough?  I swear, there is a method to my madness; Stay with me.


	7. I'm Leaving

**Chapter 7:**

**I'm Leaving (On a Jet Plane)**

Chandler stared at the clock on the nightstand; his eyes were aching for sleep, but try as he might, slumber had evaded him.  For several hours, he had been playing the lethal Alarm Clock Game: _If I fall asleep now, I'll get two hours of sleep.  OK, ninety minutes.  OK, forty-five. _ The alarm would buzz in less than a half hour, and Chandler had yet to get a single minute of rest.  Dreading the rest of the day, he burrowed down underneath the covers once more, turned onto his side and snuggled against Rachel.  She made a noise of contentment in her sleep, and he cautioned himself not to get any closer.  _There's only room for two of us in this bed, _he silently scolded his rebellious body.  As rebels are wont to do, his body completely ignored him and did exactly as it pleased.  Grimacing, he willed himself not to move, not to do anything that might stimulate movement from Rachel.  _Think about baseball.  Or the Knicks.  Oh!  The Beverly Hillbillies.  Yes…Jed, Jethro.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  Granny.  Ugh, that woman was oooold.  Elly May…oh no, no, no, not Elly May. No Elly May!  Bad!!  Pigtails bad!!  Very, *very* bad!!  Go away!!  Shoo!!  No, ok, no…Beverly Hillbillies, not such a good idea.  Oh, God…._

After several tense moments, the situation passed without incident.  Chandler breathed a sigh of relief and eased onto his back, gently, trying not to disturb his slumbering bedmate.  He gazed toward the ceiling, running through his mental packing checklist for what must have been the millionth time since Rachel fell asleep.  He glanced at the hated clock.  _Fifteen more minutes.  What's the point?  _Groaning inwardly, he slid reluctantly out from under the warmth of the covers and turned the alarm off.  He dressed quickly, then paused momentarily to appraise the sleeping Rachel in the growing morning light.  Her golden hair was splayed across the pillow, one hand tucked underneath her cheek, the other grasping the edge of the floral-patterned bedspread.  Her bare shoulder rose gracefully from under the covers, teasing him with the thought of what might have happened the previous evening, were it not for Ross' unwanted invasion of his conscience.  Chandler's mind rewound briefly to two mornings before, when he'd awoken in a similar situation, completely oblivious to the startling turn of events awaiting them; it seemed so long ago, and yet it had been less than forty-eight hours.  He heaved a tortured sigh and turned away, grudgingly, to look for his shoes.  Finding them, he sat down on the edge of the bed to tie the laces.  

Rachel stirred, and he turned expectantly toward the sound.  She rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up on her elbows, yawning widely, finishing with a tiny squeak, a nearly non-sound that made Chandler's chest tighten in a way to which he was quickly growing accustomed.  She collapsed back onto the bed, moving onto her side, squinting at him drowsily through the wheat-colored curtain of her hair.  "Mornin', you," she greeted him softly.

Unbidden, his mouth curved into an affectionate smile, and once again he found himself battling the urge to wrap himself around her and nestle down under the covers, never to resurface.  "Mornin'."

She yawned again, covering her mouth self-consciously this time, pulling her shoulders up towards her chin in a futile attempt to stretch some life into her languid limbs.  "Did you sleep okay?"

He chuckled at the irony of her question.  At her befuddled expression, he explained, "Eh, not so much.  I, ah, never really fell asleep at all."

She frowned, deep lines of concern etching themselves slowly across her brow line.  "What?  What did you _do_ all night?"

He attempted unsuccessfully to tame his sleep-rumpled hair, very conscious of how undoubtedly tousled it was.  "Ah…well, I just kind of…hung out.  Spent a lot of time with my, ah, _thoughts_, if you will."

Her frown deepened as she pushed herself upright, clutching the covers around her chest.  "Chandler, I'm so sorry…why didn't you wake me up?"  

He smiled sheepishly.  "Well, you were so peaceful…just because I couldn't sleep didn't mean that you shouldn't get to."

She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.  "I feel so bad.  Here I am, all lazy, snoring away, and there you sit, all night, dwelling on God-knows-what…"

_She looks so adorable, sitting there all guilty. _ Chandler stopped himself just short of reaching out and tweaking her perfect little nose.  "Seriously, Rach, it's okay.  I'll sleep on the plane."

"Speaking of, I guess you'd better get back to your room.  Joey's probably going to be waking up soon."

"Yeah, you're probably right.  If I have to, I'll just tell him I went downstairs for a smoke."

"Ooooooh…he's not gonna like that…"

Chandler's eyes twinkled, despite his fatigue, as he raised one eyebrow and gazed pointedly in the direction of her nearly bare chest, hiding just under the edge of the blanket.  "Well, my guess is he'll accept that more readily than he would if I told him the truth, don't you think?"

Suddenly extremely aware of her less-than-decent state of dress, Rachel flushed, amusing Chandler even more.  "Alright, you."

"Alright, you.  I'm going, so you can get dressed.  Wanna share a cab to the airport?"

"Definitely."

"We'll stop by on the way down."  He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her forehead.  He lingered there, quiet for a moment.  "We're gonna get this whole Ross thing straightened out, alright?  Try not to worry about it…we'll figure something out."  His voice and words portrayed a confidence he wasn't sure he felt, but he needed to let her know that he was planning on doing…_something._

His assurances had the desired effect; she smiled wanly, somewhat comforted.  "I'll see you in a little while."

Flashing a quick smile of his own, Chandler turned and strode from the room, closing the door silently behind him.  Rachel slid down into the den of blankets once more and buried her face in Chandler's pillow, inhaling the pleasantly specific Chandler-ness that she was quickly growing to cherish.  Finally, sighing unenthusiastically, she pushed herself upright and headed for the shower.

***

_"Final call for Flight 760 to Newark, New Jersey.  All passengers for Flight 760 should be boarding at this time."_

Rachel anxiously scanned the terminal for the twentieth time.  "I just don't understand where she could be, guys.  I mean, it's _Monica, _for cryin' out loud!"

Joey scratched the back of his neck, his eyebrows knitted tightly together with obvious concern.  "Is there any chance she got here before us and boarded already?"

Chandler shook his head resolutely.  "No way.  We got here too early."  He exhaled slowly.  "I think we'd better consider the possibility that we aren't going home yet."

Rachel sank into one of the uncomfortable, molded plastic chairs.  "I don't know what to do.  What do we do?"

Chandler dug in his pockets, searching for change.  "I'm going to call Ross' room, see when she left there.  Then we'll decide what to do next."

Rachel watched his retreating back, her stomach in knots.  Her original irritation at Monica for being late had turned quickly into dismay, and then, with only forty-five minutes left until departure and still no Monica, extreme apprehension.  Now they had a mere fifteen minutes remaining, and she was beginning to feel nauseous.  _What if something's happened?_

Joey seemed to sense her distress.  He plopped down into the chair beside her and rubbed her back reassuringly, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his façade of calm. "I'm sure everything is fine, Rach.  She's probably just stuck in traffic somewhere."

Rachel nodded absently as she murmured hollow words of agreement, doubting seriously that Monica would have been…_un-Monica _enough not to account for something as mundane as traffic ahead of time.  She checked her watch again, resisting the illogical urge to leap up onto the chair and scream her friend's name in a panic.  She and Joey waited in nervous silence for several long moments before Chandler returned.  At his bemused expression, she felt her chest lighten considerably.  

"Come on," Chandler began.  "We need to hurry.  I'll explain on the plane."

Perplexed, Rachel hoisted her carry-on bag to her shoulder and followed quickly on his heels, Joey in hot pursuit.  The three of them handed their tickets to the attendant and practically ran through the tunnel, their breathing labored by the time they reached the airplane and found their row.  Monica's apparent absence had vacated a seat, which Rachel fell into, admittedly grateful not to have to make the journey in isolation.  After stowing her bag and buckling herself in hurriedly, she turned to Chandler expectantly.  "Well?"

Chandler grinned.  "She's staying here for now, then going to Greece with Ross."

Rachel started.  "Wait.  Say again?  She's going…with her brother…on his…_honeymoon_?"

Chandler chuckled.  "Well, not exactly his honeymoon, seeing as he didn't _actually _get married…."  At Rachel's less-than-amused expression, he continued, "Apparently, Ross was able to exchange his suite for a double, much to the amusement of the hotel staff."

Joey seemed as bewildered as Rachel.  "But – why didn't she call and let us know?"  Despite his confusion, relief was evident in his voice.

Chandler grinned sardonically.  "Well, it seems she did call.  Only we'd already left.  Except she didn't know that; she thought we'd just gone for breakfast.  So she left a message with the front desk."

Rachel gaped.  "But we had to be here at 9:30!  What the hell time did she call?"

"8:45, apparently."

"Why the _hell _would we be having breakfast when we had to be at the airport in _forty-five minutes?_"

"Well, it's Monica.  It seems she didn't think that we could manage an organized trip to the airport without her supervision."  His mouth twitched in silent laughter.  "She was pretty surprised to hear that she was wrong."

Rachel flung herself back against the seat indignantly.  "When she gets back to New York, I am going to kick her sorry skeptical ass."

Chandler snickered again.  "I don't think you'll need to.  A week, in a hotel room, alone, with Ross?  After what's happened?  I think she'll be kicking her _own_ sorry ass."

Rachel crossed her legs and, annoyed, roughly flipped open the cover of the _Cosmo _she'd picked up in the terminal.  "Yeah.  A weeklong, all expenses-paid vacation in Greece.  Poor, _poor_ Mon."

Joey stared, unseeing, toward the front of the plane.  Almost to himself, he said, "Yeah.  Sucks to be her."

The melancholy in his tone was not lost on Rachel.

***

After the relatively mild weather in London, the sultry heat of May in the City was a stifling homecoming.  Rachel dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes as they adjusted to the bright midday sun.  The jet lag was heavier on this side of the Atlantic - her body told her it was dinnertime, but the sun almost directly above her head argued that only half of the daylight had passed.  Silently thankful that she'd had the foresight to take an extra day off of work, she trudged, fatigued, to the curb in search of a cab; Chandler, however, beat her to it.  "Here, give me your bags," he beckoned to her, stepping toward the opening trunk of the taxi.  Joey motioned that he would get his own and promptly disappeared into the matching yellow box behind Chandler.  He waved as his car departed, and Rachel slid into the cool, musty interior of theirs.  Groaning at the soreness in his muscles, Chandler followed suit.  

She muffled a yawn and appraised Chandler, smiling timidly.  He leaned back against the headrest and turned to meet her gaze.

"Hey, you."  Her eyes, betraying her exhaustion, squinted at him through the darkness of her sunglasses.

"Hey, yourself."

"Tired?"

"Hell, yeah.  Exhausted."  He faced forward, drinking in the approaching skyline of Manhattan.  "It's good to be home again."

She nodded in hearty agreement.  "All I can think about is my bed."

The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.  "That's funny, all _I _can think about is your bed, too…"

Her stomach did a short gymnastics routine, then landed unceremoniously on its face as she remembered their circumstances.  Eyeing the silent cabby, she muttered, "What are we gonna do for the next week, Chandler?"

All trace of amusement vanished from his face; he regarded her seriously, his voice soft, but determined.  "We're just going to have to be careful not to put ourselves in any…_compromising _positions, that's all there is to it.  If what happened last night happens again, well, I'm not sure I'll be strong enough to…"  He let the sentence hang heavily in the air between them, unfinished, his implied meaning perfectly clear to Rachel.  Although she knew he was right, she couldn't help but feel a secret tingle of excitement at having the whole apartment to herself for the next week.  _All that privacy…who knows what could happen? _an optimistic voice inside her head insisted.  __

_Shut up, _she replied.  _You're not helping._

The annoyingly cheerful voice laughed, evilly.  _I'm not trying to help, stupid._

***


	8. Circumstantial Evidence

**_A/N:  Moving right along these days, aren't I?_**

**Chapter 8:**

**Circumstantial Evidence**

Rachel hauled her bags up the stairs and was not at all surprised to discover that the door to apartment 20 was unlocked.  As Chandler dropped his luggage across the hall, she stepped into her own home to discover Phoebe and Joey at the kitchen table, their faces close together, speaking in low tones.  The seriousness evaporated immediately, however, the instant she entered the room.  Despite Phoebe's warm welcome, Rachel had the distinct impression that she had interrupted an important conversation.  She had no time to dwell on it, however, as she was quickly whisked into the living room; Phoebe wanted to hear all about the trip.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, Rachel was physically and mentally exhausted.  Though still early, she had been awake for more than sixteen hours, and nearly half of that had been spent in the air, squeezed into an uncomfortably small seat that she thought could easily have doubled as a torture device.  Joey had long since trudged across the hall for the evening, and Phoebe was hoisting herself up from the couch so that Chandler could help her downstairs and into a cab before he retired as well.  Murmuring goodbyes, Rachel closed the door behind them and practically dragged herself and one of her bags into the bathroom to shower.  

Fifteen minutes later, feeling only slightly better, she emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, clad in only a long-sleeved NYPD t-shirt.  She trudged across the apartment to lock the door, turned off all of the lights and slowly made her way into her bedroom.  Folding back the blankets on her bed, she slipped in between the sheets and, breathing a contented sigh, was asleep within minutes.

She awoke with a start sometime around 3 a.m., feeling certain that she'd heard a noise in the apartment.  Soundlessly, she slid out of bed, threw on her robe and grasped the doorknob, heart pounding, arming herself with the baseball bat she kept hidden just inside the room.  She turned the knob as silently as possible, opened the door only a crack and peered cautiously into the living room.  The light from the open refrigerator illuminated the kitchen, and she discovered Joey quietly attempting to make himself a sandwich.  She threw the door wide and jammed her hands onto her hips.  "Joey Tribbiani, I'm going to _kill _you!  You scared the shit out of me!"

Even through the darkness, she saw that she had startled him as well.  "Sorry, Rach. . .I was hungry, and we don't have any food at our place.  I was trying not to wake you up. . . ."

She propped her would-be weapon against the sofa and padded into the kitchen to close the refrigerator and turn on a light.  Settling herself into one of the kitchen chairs, she demanded, "What the hell are you doing up at this time of night anyway?"

Joey went back to making his sandwich.  "I couldn't sleep.  It must be all the traveling."  Completing his task, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and seated himself across from her.  He tucked into his late-night snack with gusto, moaning with contentment as he chewed.  "I am so glad to be back home again.  I mean, London was great and all, but the food over there really wasn't the same."

Rachel studied his face as he ate.  Something wasn't right with him, she was sure of it.  "Joey, sweetie, are you okay?"

He paused, mid-bite.  "What do you mean?"

She pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.  "You've seemed a little. . .down, all day.  Is something bothering you?"

He swallowed his bite, took another, chewing methodically, taking a while to answer.  Not quite meeting her eyes, he replied, "I'm fine, Rach.  I. . .I guess I'm just tired."  

Unconvinced, she debated whether or not to press the issue; She wasn't sure how he would react, or if he would even tell her the truth, if in fact something really was bothering him.  Finally, she pushed aside her concerns and yawned widely.  "Well, now that I know I'm not going to be murdered in my sleep, I'm going back to bed.  I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, mouth full of salami.  "'Night, Rach."

***

Chandler opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling, still feeling groggy despite the fact that he'd slept more than twelve hours.  The clock read 8:30, and his lower back was aching, so he rolled over and climbed out of bed.  Rather astonished that he hadn't awoken sooner, he trudged into the empty living room, yawning.  _Caffeine.  Now.  _He stuck his feet into his slippers and wandered across the hall.  The door was unlocked, and he called Rachel's name as he let himself in.  There was no answer; the shower was running.  He helped himself to a cup of the waiting coffee and plunked down onto the sofa to watch television.  

After a few minutes, the shower stopped, and he could hear Rachel humming cheerfully to herself as she rummaged around in the bathroom.  When the door opened, he glanced over his shoulder to greet her, only to discover that she was wrapped in only a towel.  Slightly startled by his presence, she jumped backwards into the bathroom and peeked around the doorjamb.  "Is Joey with you?" she hissed.

He shook his head solemnly, unable to keep his gaze from sliding up and down her nearly naked body.   She flushed slightly at his less-than-subtle ogling, and scolded, "If you expect us to make it through this week, you absolutely cannot look at me like that, Bing."

With difficulty, he turned back to the television.  "Well, if you expect me not to look at you like that, you shouldn't be walking around half-naked, _Green._"

She huffed as she crossed to her bedroom.  "Well, how was I supposed to know that you'd be sitting in here when I came out?"  
"I know," he quipped.  "I'm _never _over here."  He smiled wryly at her frustrated groan as she closed her bedroom door, at a loss as to how he would manage to keep his hands off of her for the rest of the day, much less the whole _week._  When she emerged from the bedroom, his self-doubt increased ten-fold.  She was dressed casually, in calf-length olive-colored Capri pants and a clingy, beige t-shirt with three-quarter length sleeves.  He groaned inwardly; everything about her exuded sexiness to him now - even her tiny bare feet, toenails painted a deep shade of red that accentuated her early-summer tan, jingly silver jewelry dangling around her ankle.  Her golden hair fell straight down to the center of her back, and he yearned to tangle his hands in it as he pulled her face down to his for a long, lingering kiss.  _Snap out of it, man.  You'll never survive the week if you keep thinking like this.  _He made a great effort to keep his eyes on the television as she moved around the room, but if anyone had asked, he wouldn't have even been able to say what he was watching.  Her voice saved him.  "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

He tore his mind away from torturous images of her wrapped in his sheets, calling his name, her eyes shimmering in the candlelight.  "Sure, Rach, anything."

She plopped down beside him, sideways, resting her elbow on the back of the couch, propping her head up on her hand so she could look at him while she spoke.  "Have you noticed anything. . ._strange _about the way Joey's been acting?"

Chandler set his steaming mug down on the coffee table and twisted on the sofa, mirroring her pose.  He considered her question for only a minute before answering.  "Yeah – I noticed it yesterday, especially.  He's been acting really. . .I don't know. . .almost _sad._  What do you think's up with him?"

She shook her head slowly.  "I'm really not sure.  He actually woke me up last night – he didn't mean to – he was over here making a sandwich at like 3 a.m.  I sat down with him for just a minute, asked him if he was okay. . .he said he was just tired, but I don't think he was being honest."  She pursed her lips, thinking.  "I may be way off base here, but I think whatever it is that's bothering him has to do with Monica."

Chandler started, clearly taken entirely off guard by the comment.  "What?  Why would you think that?"

Rachel debated for only a second.  "OK, I have a confession to make."

He turned his head slightly, eyeing her suspiciously.  "What kind of confession?"

She flushed.  "It's nothing major.  It's just…the first morning in London, when Joey came in, and you guys were talking?  Well, I was. . .I wasn't exactly _asleep._  I kind of – well, I kind of heard everything you guys said.  I'm really sorry. . .I didn't mean to eavesdrop, well, not _exactly, _anyway - "

Chandler gaped at her, wide-eyed.  "So you heard me. . . ."

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes.  "'Asexual', I believe that was the term you used."

He swallowed, unsure whether he should be angry or apologetic.  He didn't feel particularly angry, so he opted for an apology.  "Look, Rach, I only said those things to Joey because I was staring at you when he walked in, thinking about how incredibly hot you are, and how incredibly inappropriate it was for me to be thinking that.  Clearly, I don't _really _think you're 'asexual'.  I think you're the exact _opposite _of 'asexual'.  In fact, I think you're probably the most sexual, most beautiful, most mind-bogglingly gorgeous woman I've ever – "

"Stop, Chandler.  Just stop.  If you keep talking like that, we're gonna end up in there," she jerked her head toward her bedroom, "and I think we already agreed that – unfortunately – we're not going to be doing that, at least for the time being."  She half-smiled at him.  "It's OK, by the way.  I'm not upset.  It's not like we had any idea that morning what was going to happen with us."

He nodded, still contrite.  Clearing his throat, he pressed on.  "So, ah. . .what does any of this have to do with Joey?"

She pulled both of her legs up to her chest.  "Well, that morning, I heard Joey say that he'd stayed in our room.  Right?"

Chandler combed his memory for a moment.  "Yes.  Right.  He did say that."

"Right.  So when I got over to my room, I noticed right away that no one had slept in my bed.  It hadn't been touched."

"That's really weird."

"That's what I thought."

Chandler seemed deep in thought.  "But. . .what if Joey didn't actually stay over there?"

"Well, I thought that, too.  But why would he have said that he did, if he didn't?"

"Good question."

"Anyway, that's not all."  At Chandler's interested look, she continued.  "Remember, when you and I were, ah…in your room, after the rehearsal?  And Monica knocked on the door?"

Chandler grimaced.  "Hell yes.  How could I forget?"

"Almost the first words out of her mouth were, 'Is Joey here?'  Remember?"

He nodded again, increasingly fascinated.  "Go on."

"Well, later that night, after I tried to get Monica to talk to me, and she got pissed off and left the room?  Later, when I started to come over to see you, I heard them talking down the hall.  I went straight back into the room and climbed straight back into bed, thinking that Monica would be back any second.  But she wasn't.  In fact, I laid there in the dark for nearly half an hour before I fell asleep, and she never showed up."

He leaned forward, intrigued.  "What time was that?"

"I don't know. . .maybe 12:30, 1:00?  It was late."

"OK, that night?  I couldn't sleep, either.  I was up half the night, in fact.  Joey didn't come back to the room until almost 4 a.m.  And he was gone before I woke up."

"Monica, too.  I just assumed she had gone to help get things ready for the wedding."

"And I thought Joey had gone to breakfast."

"And then, yesterday, on the plane. . .we were talking about Monica going to Greece, with Ross, and Joey got all quiet, said something sarcastic.  And then last night. . .he was definitely not himself.  I don't know what it is, but something is definitely up."

Chandler sat back, his mind reeling.  "You know, _all _of this, as convincing as it is, it's all circumstantial.  We don't have any proof that anything is going on with them.  I mean, you and I slept in the same bed that first night, and _we _didn't do anything."

"True."

"And maybe, the night of the rehearsal, you know. . .she was really drunk.  She wasn't making any sense anyway.  She could have just been looking for _anyone_ to hook up with – make her feel better.  Hell, she might have slept with _me, _as much as she'd had to drink.  You know?"

Rachel looked dubious, but had to admit he had a point.  "Also true."

"And as far as them both staying out half the night. . .well, maybe she ran into Joey in the hotel, and she was upset, and he, being the nice guy he is, hung out with her for a while, just trying to cheer her up."

"I suppose that's possible. . . ."

"But. . . ."  Chandler ran his fingers through his hair, rumpling it.  

"But. . . ?"  She pretended not to notice how cute he looked, still a little sleepy-eyed.

"Well, in light of the fact that he's been acting funny, and all these strange coincidences. . . ."

"You call them coincidences, I call them evidence.  I think they slept together.  The only question in my mind is, how serious is it?"  She wrinkled her forehead, staring across the room and out the window, not really focusing on anything in particular.

"You know, you look really adorable when you're being all nosy about other peoples' sex lives."

She glared at him, then attacked; pinning him to the couch with her knees, she went after his ribs, trying to find the most ticklish spot possible.  He squirmed in protest, then grabbed both of her wrists with his left hand and pushed her onto her back, claiming control of the situation.  She squealed an objection, but he was far stronger.  Overpowering her, he held her hands captive above her head and took his time planning his counterattack.  

"No. . . ." she begged, breathless.  "Please. . . ."

"Oh, Rach, I love it when you beg. . . ." he rasped, teasing her.  She flushed, then resumed her struggles, although only half-heartedly.  He walked up her stomach with his index and middle finger, poised for a strike, then zeroed in on her midsection.  She gasped, dissolving into uncontrollable giggles.  Her wriggling caught him off balance, and he landed unceremoniously on top of her, her eyes mere inches from his own.  He stared, transfixed, as her lips parted, her breathing heavy from the friendly wrestling match.  He was hypnotized; he knew he couldn't pull away, even if he'd wanted to, which he most certainly did not.  He loosened his grip on her wrists, felt his hand sliding down her arm to her shoulder, cupped it gently, while his other hand moved, completely of its own volition, to stroke her glowing cheek.

A tiny sigh escaped her lips, and he was lost.  He grazed her mouth with his own, softly, barely making contact, and was amazed at the extreme acceleration of his heart at such a seemingly insignificant touch.  He felt a tremor go through her body, heard a soft sound of pleasure that reverberated against him.  He dragged his teeth across her bottom lip and she sighed again, murmuring his name, the tender, melodious sound nearly pushing him over the edge.  Unable to resist any longer, he captured her mouth with his own, delving into her softness with his tongue, exploring her, savoring the feeling of intense desire that only she seemed capable of arousing.  He still hadn't grown accustomed to the force of the passion she ignited within him; moreover, he knew, somehow, that he never really would.  The feeling was too strong, too potent, to ever be taken for granted.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he slid his arm beneath her neck, pulling her as close to him as possible.  He kissed his way across her cheek, settled on her earlobe for a second, then drifted down the side of her neck, eliciting a small inhalation of delight from Rachel.  He had just approached her collarbone when the door to the apartment burst open and Joey sauntered in, yawning.

He sat up quickly, arranging his face into a semi-serious expression, and wrapped both hands around her face, prying her mouth open.  "Well whaddya know, Rachel?  You're right - you _do_ appear to have two _extra_ teeth on top!"

She stared up at him, panic evident on her face.  "You see?!  I told you!!"

Joey merely shot a confused look in their direction and turned to the coffee pot.  Chandler stood up, giving Rachel an opportunity to straighten her clothes.  She did so, then swung her feet to the floor and hurried into the kitchen, wrenching open the refrigerator.  "Who wants breakfast?  I'm starved!"

Joey frowned.  "What are you talking about, Rach?  You can't cook.  You know that."

"Oh, well, of course, I _know _that. . .I was just getting a. . ." she scanned the contents of the fridge quickly.  ". . .a glass of juice, that's all.  Of course, I meant, does anyone want to go _get _some breakfast?  Obviously."

Chandler clapped his hands with exaggerated excitement.  "Breakfast sounds _great.  _I'll, uh, I'll just go get changed."

Joey sat down at the table, coffee in hand.  "You guys are weird this morning."

***


	9. Cryptic Warnings on the Side

_A/N: Another short one.  Bear with me._

**Chapter 9:**

**Cryptic Warnings on the Side**

Breakfast was a disaster.  Rachel didn't trust herself to speak, maintaining a nervous silence while they ate; in contrast, Chandler didn't trust himself to shut up.  He chattered anxiously throughout the entire meal, misinterpreting Rachel's occasional nods and "mmm-hmm"'s for encouragement.  Joey, clearly suspicious of their strange behavior, sat back against his chair, arms crossed, studying the two of them with blatant distrust.  Finally, after their plates had been cleared away, he thrust his elbows onto the table and regarded them both seriously.

"OK.  Both of you.  What's going on?"

Chandler fidgeted nervously, twisting one corner of his discarded napkin into a very fine point.  "Wha – wha – whaddaya mean, Joe?"

"I mean – this!  You two are both acting funny, and I want to know what's up!"

Rachel cleared her throat, trying to project total normality with her tone of voice.  "Nothing's _up_, Joey!" she insisted, forcing a laugh and flashing her brightest smile.

Joey rolled his eyes.  "You two, gimme a break.  Do you really expect me to buy this?"

Chandler scoffed.  "Buy _what_??  What areyou talking about?"

"Look, _Chandler.  _I grew up with seven younger sisters.  I watched all seven of them go through puberty, junior high, high school.  Trust me:  I know when someone's hiding something."  He took a long sip of his coffee.  "Now.  What is it?"

Chandler exhaled, slowly, through gritted teeth.  He could practically _feel _Rachel's tension beside him.  

Joey continued.  "I _hate _secrets, you guys.  Come on."

Rachel stared at Joey, remembering the amazing friend he'd been to her for the past four years.  She didn't like lying to him.  _This is pointless.  He's going to find out eventually.  _Out loud, she said, "We may as well tell him, Chandler.  I think we can trust Joey."

Chandler nodded, fumbling around in his pocket for his cigarettes.  Ignoring Joey's look of disgust, he lit one, dropped the pack and his lighter onto the dingy Formica tabletop.  "Well, you see, Joe, in London, Rachel and I…we kind of…well, we…"

"…realized something.  About ourselves," Rachel interrupted.  "Something big."

Joey settled slowly back into his chair.  When he spoke, his voice was tentative.  "You guys slept together, didn't you?"

"No!" Chandler denied.  "Well, not exactly…"  
Joey pushed his chair back, pointing at both of them in capitulation.  "I knew it!"  He dropped his napkin beside his cup and leaned forward intently, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.  "When?!  That first night?"

Chandler shook his head, grinning sheepishly.  "Not really until after the rehearsal."

Joey raised one eyebrow, saucily, then winked at Rachel.  "Oh, my."

Rachel flushed and folded her arms across her chest.  "Wasn't like that, Joe."

Chandler nodded his agreement.  "And we haven't actually done _anything_…yet."

Joey's brow furrowed.  "Well, why the hell n – "  His face became more serious as he watched them exchange worried glances.  "Oh.  Yeah."  He sat up straighter.  "So…what are you gonna do?"

Chandler drew deeply from his cigarette, exhaling toward the ceiling.  "We're gonna wait until Ross gets back and sit down like three adults, talk about it."

Joey's half-smile slid off of his face as he seemed to mentally consider the implications of the situation.  "So are you guys…together?  Or…or what?"

Chandler studied the burning tip of his cigarette while Rachel became increasingly interested in her fingernails; neither offered an immediate response.

Joey frowned.  "Guys?"

Rachel sighed.  "We don't know what's going to happen, Joey.  It's only been three days."  Chandler visibly relaxed, clearly relieved to hear her echo his thoughts.

Joey, however, did not seem pleased with the answer.  "But…if you aren't going to be together, like, _seriously_, then why the hell would you talk to Ross about it?  Why would you upset him for no good reason?"

Chandler grimaced.  "But if we _don't _talk to him, and then it _does _get serious…he'll know we've been hiding it from him, and he'll _definitely _be pissed off.  We _have _to talk to him first.  We don't have a choice."

Joey's face was an approaching thunderstorm; Rachel watched, uneasy, as the clouds rolled in slowly, settled there, something dark and unpleasant brewing within.  "And what if things don't work out between you two?"

Chandler took another deep drag from the cylinder between his fingers.  "We'll deal with that if and when we get there," he replied, exhaling through his words.

Joey's frown deepened.  When he spoke, his voice was deep with suppressed displeasure.  "You had better be sure you know what you're doing.  That shit can _ruin _afriendship, man."  He stood and stepped back from the table, pushing his chair in with a loud screech.  "Everything is different when it's with a friend.  More serious.  More people involved.  You should think about that before you do anything you might regret."

Rachel got to her feet, slowly, deliberately, ignoring the curious stares of the surrounding patrons.  "We don't _need _the lecture, Joe.  We've thought about all of this, you know."

"Have you?  Have you _really_?"  Joey yanked his wallet from his back pocket, dropping several bills onto the table.  "I thought you'd learned your lesson after what happened with Ross, _Rach._"

"My '_lesson'_?!"  Her eyes narrowed.  "That's not fair.  Not fair at all.  This is a _completely_ different situation."

Joey's eyes burned into hers.  "Doesn't seem very _different _to _me._"

White-hot anger simmered inside Rachel.  _How dare he be so judgmental!!  _"Does it seem any different from, say, your _own _situation, _Joey_?"

Joey stopped short.  His voice clipped, he said, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Rachel leveled her eyes at him, lowering her voice.  "Why don't you tell us what's going on with you and Monica, Mr. 'I Hate Secrets'?!"

Joey returned her glare, not blinking.  "I'm outta here."  Without any further explanation, he stormed out of the restaurant.

Rachel huffed, throwing herself back into her seat.  "Well, that was…_bizarre._"

Chandler exhaled two thin streams of smoke through his nose, his mouth a grim line of displeasure.  "Scrambled eggs with cryptic warnings on the side."  He stubbed out his cigarette, angrily.  "The breakfast of champions."

***

Rachel queued up to pay for their food while Chndler went after Joey.  He caught up with his friend a few blocks away from the diner.  Panting, he grabbed Joey by the arm and swung him around so that they were face-to-face.  "You wanna tell me what the hell _that _was about?"

Joey narrowed his eyes and resumed his pace, addressing Chandler as he strode determinedly through the throngs of Monday morning pedestrians.  "Everything is going to be different now.  We saw it when she broke up with Ross; I didn't know if we were all going to make it through _that.  _And now – you two…"  He gritted his teeth and increased his gait.

"Dude!  You were the one being all, _'That's never all…'_, back in London!  You practically ridiculed me for not hooking up with her that first night!"

Joey's face twitched; for a moment, Chandler experienced a brief moment of relief that his anger was ebbing, but when he spoke again, the resignation in his voice was worse than the fury he'd demonstrated before.  "Yeah, I did say that.  But that was before…"  He broke off.

Chandler sped up, circled around and blocked Joey's path, forcing him to stop for a moment.  "Before _what_, Joey?"

Joey clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.  Exhaling roughly, he replied, "Look.  I've already lost one friend this weekend because of this kind of thing.  I just – I don't want to see it happen to anyone else."

"You're gonna have to explain that one, Joe.  You're giving me nothing here."

Joey moved around him, but his stride was much less hurried than before, allowing Chandler a chance to catch his breath.  "Rachel was right, back there.  Something did happen between me and Monica.  And since the wedding, she's been all…distant, from me.  And now…now she's gone for another week, and I just…I'm just worried that I've ruined my friendship with her."  He shoved his hands into his pockets, clamping his jaw shut.  

"What makes you think that you've ruined things?"

Reaching their apartment building, Joey ambled up the first two stairs and collapsed, the very picture of misery, onto the concrete stoop.  Resting his elbows on his knees, he sighed, deflated.  "She was depressed over there.  She was lonely.  She asked me…anyway, I should've known better than to let anything happen.  I should've…I should've been smart enough not to let things go as far as they did."

Chandler eased down beside his roommate, threw a cautiously comforting arm over his stooped shoulders.  "Joey, you can't take the blame for the both of you.  You're both grown-ups; you're both your own people.  If Monica let anything happen between the two of you, it's only because she wanted it to happen.  You can't beat yourself up about this."

Joey's eyebrows squeezed together, his beguiling innocence – despite all of his experience – shining in his eyes.  "Chandler…what if…what if she won't even talk to me, when she gets back?  What if I've fucked everything up, forever?"

"I'm sure that isn't the case, Joe.  It's gonna be okay, buddy.  You'll see.  Monica will get back from Greece, the two of you will talk it out, everything will be fine.  Try not to worry."  He watched the passersby, measuring his words.  "As for me and Rachel…it's not just sex with us, Joey.  I think I…it's…it's more than that."  He stared at his feet.  "I've never felt like this before.  I can't explain it."

Joey was quiet for a long moment.  When he spoke, his voice was calmer, no longer angry.  "What about Ross?"

Chandler sighed, heavily.  "Well, like I said before, that's why we haven't done anything.  Rachel doesn't – it's been over between them for a long time.  But we have to – we owe it to him to wait until he gets back.  Talk to him.  Explain things.  Then we'll decide where we're going with this.  Hopefully, he'll be okay with it."

Joey spotted Rachel approaching them from the end of the block and frowned, sadly.  "But Chandler, what if he _isn't_?"

Chandler squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about it.  "He has to be."

***


	10. Reach Out and Touch Someone

**_A/N:  Let me mention here that I don't claim to know anything about the geography in NYC as it pertains to the show, so if there are any glaring contradictions about the location of things in this chapter, I do apologize.  Also, you can assume from here on out that if I mention a restaurant, that said restaurant is a figment of my imagination.  I suppose I could find suitable real-life places on the Internet, but frankly, I'm just too lazy for that.  After the wordless misery of the past two weeks, I'm just thrilled that complete sentences are forming on the paper in front of me.  This chapter isn't what I wanted it to be, but I absolutely cannot edit any more without going certifiably insane._**

**_Anyway, read, enjoy, and review.  _**

**_Many, many thanks to Sam and MusicCityDiva (goreadherstorynow) for their invaluable help, and to everyone else who sent positive thoughts and ideas!  You guys rock!!_**

**Disclaimer:  **I think I may have forgotten to say so in the past couple of chapters, but I still don't own these characters, no matter how much I wish it wasn't true.

**Chapter 10:**

**Reach Out and Touch Someone**

Rachel flipped over onto her left side, fluffing her pillow for the twelfth time in less than two hours.  The red numbers on her alarm clock glared at her unsympathetically, cruelly reminding her that she had to return to work first thing in the morning, like it or not.  Out of respect to Joey, she and Chandler had cautiously avoided one another all afternoon.  She'd used the time to catch up on her laundry, then spent the evening with Phoebe, who was so pregnant she looked ready to burst at any moment.  She had no idea what the boys had gotten up to; she'd stopped by their place on her way to Phoebe's but had found the apartment empty.

Desperately craving the buzz of caffeine that her pregnancy forbade her from having, Phoebe had prepared some sort of herbal tea concoction for herself.  Rachel had accepted a cup against her better judgment, and whatever natural ingredient it was that provided the kick in the tea was now keeping her wide awake.  She checked the clock one last time and groaned, realizing she had only five hours left before she had to get up.  Sighing, she clicked the lamp on beside her bed and stacked both of her pillows against the headboard in resignation.  She grabbed the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ that she'd been trying to read for three months, and opened up to her bookmark on page 47.  

Moments later, she was fast asleep.

***

"Mr. Bing?" Chandler's assistant's voice buzzed over the intercom.  "Rachel Green on Line 1."

Chandler snatched the telephone from the cradle with glee, happy for the distraction from the monotonous columns of numbers mocking him from his computer screen.  "Hey, Rach," he grinned into the receiver.

The smile in Rachel's voice crawled through the telephone wires and flooded his entire body with warmth.  "Whatcha doin'?"

"Oh, you know.  Changing the world, feeding the hungry, everyday run-of-the-mill data processing business.  What about you?"

"The same.  The fashion industry is very concerned with the plight of the less fortunate.  Why, just ten minutes ago, I watched my boss carry three shopping bags full of designer handbags downstairs to the homeless people huddled by the front entrance."

"Well, it's good to know that Bloomingdale's is doing its part."  Chandler leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk.  "How's your day so far?"

"Terrible.  Yours?"

"As good as can be expected after having a five-day weekend."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Well, I was wondering if you might be able to sneak away for a lunch date in say, half an hour?"

Chandler pretended to check his schedule.  "Let me see…I've got a meeting with the French Ambassador at 2:00 and a conference call with the King of Spain at 2:45, but I think I can squeeze some lunch in beforehand.  Did you have someplace specific in mind?"

"Not really.  Any place near you that's good?"

"Yeah, there's a deli around the corner, Alex's.  You know it?"

"I think so.  Meet me there in thirty minutes?"

"See you then."  Chandler hung up, dropped his feet back to the floor and refocused his attention on his computer screen, his grin stretched so widely that it almost hurt.  

***

Half an hour later, he pushed open the door to the delicatessen and spied Rachel standing by the counter perusing the menu.  Taking advantage of the fact that she hadn't noticed him, he headed over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him and nuzzling his face into her hair.  "Hey, you." 

"Hey, yourself."  She relaxed into his arms, unable to suppress a soft sigh of happiness at his embrace.

He released her reluctantly, settling instead for the less-satisfying contact of her fingers entwined with his.  "See anything you like?"

Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she met his gaze.  "Yeah I do."  She winked at him saucily, pulling him closer to her side.  "Oh, you meant, anything I'd like to _eat_."

"Wow, Rach, I never pegged you as someone who would specialize in cheesy lunchtime come-ons."

"Well, I guess you just bring it out in me."  She contemplated the items on the menu board.  "I think I'm just gonna have a salad."

Several moments later, they were seated at a small, wobbly table in the back corner of the rapidly filling dining room.  Having skipped breakfast in favor of twenty extra minutes of sleep, Rachel was famished; she dug into the salad with gusto.  "So," she began between hastily ingested mouthfuls, "you didn't get to tell me what happened with Joey yesterday after the breakfast fiasco."

Chandler bit into his pastrami sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.  "Well, turns out you were right on about him and Monica.  I guess they haven't really spoken since the wedding, and he's worried that she's avoiding him deliberately.  I think he kind of projected his feelings about that onto our situation."

Rachel stared, her fork midway between the plate and her mouth.  "So they _did _sleep together.  Is it serious?"

"No," Chandler replied, relaxing into his chair and pausing for a sip of water.  "I got the impression that she was lonely and sad, more or less, and basically propositioned Joey for a…_favor_, if you will."  He set his glass back down onto the cracked tabletop.  "Anyway, it seems now that Joey thinks he should have said no."

Rachel considered.  "Well, if Monica initiated it, then he really shouldn't feel guilty about it.  I'm sure she's not avoiding him on purpose."  She frowned into her salad.  "Poor Joey.  No wonder he got so upset yesterday."

"Yeah.  He's pretty torn up about it, but I'm sure it'll be fine."  He returned to his lunch.  "So anyway, I was thinking.  Do you have plans tonight?"

"Not a thing."  She loaded her fork with romaine and cucumber, speared a crouton.  "This is really good, by the way."

Chandler smiled at the simple pleasure of having chosen a satisfactory venue for lunch.  "I'm glad you like it."

"So, you were saying.  Tonight?"

He popped a potato chip into his mouth and watched her for a moment, taking joy in the fact that she wasn't shying away from food in his presence.  He'd always hated that about women, how they acted like it was a sin to eat in front of a potential mate.  It was refreshing to see a woman he was interested in actually _enjoying _a meal for once.  "Weeell…I was thinking.  Joey is going over to stay with Phoebe tonight, just in case she decides to spit those babies out.  He doesn't want her to be alone when it happens.  So, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to order some food in, maybe rent a movie, curl up on the sofa, torture ourselves to within an inch of our lives?  Whaddaya say?"

Rachel felt her insides turn to jelly at the thought.  "I can't think of any way I'd rather spend a Tuesday night."

Chandler beamed.  "Awesome.  I'll pick up a movie on my way home.  You have a preference about what I get?"

Her indigo gaze washed over him in waves.  "Nope.  Something that'll be easy to ignore."

The corners of his mouth turned upward lazily.  "Anything, then."

Rachel flushed.  "That pretty much sums it up."  She slid a grape tomato from her fork to her mouth, the specter of Ross drifting further and further away by the minute.

***

Chandler tossed a goodbye to Joey over his shoulder, staring at the television without having any idea what he was watching.  He knew Joey wasn't fooled, and that he had no reason to pretend, but still he waited five minutes, then five more; when he was certain his roommate wasn't coming back, he grabbed the copy of _The Princess Bride _he'd rented and scampered across the hall and through Rachel's unlocked door.

"Rach?"

"Hey!  Just changing clothes.  Five minutes."  Her voice was muffled from the other side of her bedroom door.

He dropped the movie onto the kitchen table and grabbed the telephone.  "Pizza okay with you?"

"Sounds great."  He thumbed through the phone book until he found the number he was looking for, dialed.  He was in the middle of ordering when Rachel's door opened and she appeared in the living room.  She was dressed simply: barefoot, in jeans and a small, nondescript, white button-down cotton shirt, but the top several buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing a tantalizing swell of cleavage and catapulting his mind straight into the gutter.  His mouth went dry, he lost his train of thought, and only when the young girl on the other end of the phone line cleared her throat did he realize he was standing in silence with his mouth hanging open.  He hurriedly finished his order and pressed "off" on the cordless phone, dropping it back onto the charger as if it had burned his hand.  _Pull yourself together, man._

Rachel looked amused at his reaction.  "Wow, if that's how you feel about jeans and a plain shirt, I'm gonna save a bundle on lingerie."

"Oh, God, Rachel, don't say 'lingerie'.  My thoughts are impure enough as it is."  

She laughed and brushed past him into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine.  She uncorked it and extended the bottle questioningly in his direction.  "You want?"

"Oh, yeah."

She poured them each a glass and handed one to him.  Taking a sip from hers, she picked up the video case and read the label.  "God, I haven't seen this in years."

Still struggling to regain his composure, Chandler teased, "If I had my way, you'd still be able to say that tomorrow."

Rachel raised one eyebrow and sank into the kitchen chair in front of her.  "What's the matter, Chandler?  You sound like a man who's been trying to score with a woman for a week but keeps getting thwarted by one thing or another."

He groaned and plopped down into a chair opposite her.  "Or one _Geller _or another."

Rachel made a thoughtful sound as she took another swallow of wine.  They were quiet for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts.  She listened to the white noise of the faucet dripping in the bathroom, _plop, plop, plop_, and marveled at the incredible level of comfort she felt sitting at a table with Chandler and speaking so frankly.  "You know, if anyone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be here, like this, with you…." She trailed off, not wanting to offend him.

He nodded his understanding.  "I know what you mean.  It's funny how quickly things can change."  

Rachel traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger, weighing her words.  "I wish it wasn't so…complicated."

His eyes sought hers, held her gaze.  "Are you sorry?  About this?"

She shook her head vehemently.  "No.  Absolutely not.  It feels…I don't know.  It's like you said, it's such a sudden change, but…it doesn't feel…that sudden.  I guess that doesn't make any sense, huh?"

Chandler relaxed visibly.  "Actually, it makes perfect sense."  Clearing his throat, he pushed his chair away from the table and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket.  "I'm gonna step outside for a minute."  

"I'll come with you."

He nudged the window open and took Rachel's wineglass while she climbed through, then handed her both glasses and stepped through the opening himself.  He lit a cigarette and took his glass back, exhaling a fine stream of smoke into the sultry, early summer air.  She watched him with undisguised interest, rubbing her glass back and forth across her bottom lip.  He took another drag and tilted his head.  "What is it, Rach?"

She blinked, blushing at having been caught staring.  "I'm sorry.  I was just thinking.  It's a disgusting habit – "

He grimaced.  "I know, I – "

"You didn't let me finish," she interrupted.  "It's a disgusting habit, _but_, damn, you look sexy doing it."

Reflexively, he opened his mouth to defend himself, then stopped short.  "Well, that's one I haven't heard."

She sipped her wine, relishing the relaxing feeling of warmth that coursed through her veins alongside the alcohol.  "It _is_ a dangerous habit, though.  Of course, you know that already."  Her forehead wrinkled.  "What's so great about it, anyway?"

He rested his elbows on the railing, crossing one foot over the over, and stared down at the traffic several stories below them.  "I can't explain it, really.  It's comforting – and not just the nicotine – just the act of inhaling."  As if in demonstration, he perched the cylinder between his lips and took a long draw.  "Haven't you ever tried it?  Not that I'm encouraging it," he added quickly.

She pursed her lips, thinking, and then shook her head.  "Not really.  I mean, once or twice in college, but I don't think I did it right.  I didn't like it – I just coughed a lot."  She perched herself on one of the small folding chairs.  "I only did it because I knew it would piss my parents off if they found out."

The ghost of a smile floated across his lips.  "Yeah.  I know a thing or two about that."

The sound of knocking drifted through the open window.  "Oh, pizza's here."  Rachel clambered inside and grabbed her purse.  "Just a second…"  Finding her wallet, she opened the door and paid the delivery guy, closing the door just as Chandler stepped into the apartment and shut the window.  She tucked the wine bottle under her arm and carried everything into the living room, settling down on the floor beside the coffee table.  Chandler popped the tape into the VCR then lowered himself onto the sofa.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Rachel dropped her third crust into the open pizza box and leaned back against the couch, groaning in contentment.  "God, I made a pig of myself."

Chandler scoffed.  "You did not.  I live with Joey.  Trust me, I _know _pigs."

She giggled as she stood, pouring herself another glass of wine and climbing up onto the couch beside him.  He finished his last piece and relaxed against the pillows, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to his side.  She nestled her head to his chest and sighed contentedly.  "This feels nice."

"Here's to that."  He drained his glass and set it on the floor, throwing his feet onto the coffee table and crossing his ankles.  His fingers slid languidly up and down her bare arm, tracing tiny, lethargic circles on her warm skin.  She snuggled closer to him, pressing her face into his neck, her warm breath sending ripples of anticipation all the way down to his toes.  "God, Rachel, I've been thinking about this all day."

"Mmmmm…." She brushed a series of kisses along his jaw line, tempting him, moving torturously close to his lips, then dancing away to his earlobe, his temple, across his cheek, and then finally settling against his mouth.

It was the merest of kisses, intended only to tease him, but she found that once she started, she couldn't pull away.  Her lips parted, and their tongues met, gently, a whisper-soft prelude of what could happen if they allowed themselves to let go.  Chandler twisted on the sofa until his back was against the armrest, then settled Rachel gently against his chest, wrapping both of his arms around her, his mouth never leaving hers.  His fingers slid up and across the cool fabric of her shirt, massaging her neck, threading through her long hair.  She moaned quietly against his lips and he suppressed the urge to crush her to him, forcing himself to keep it light, not wanting to venture into the dangerous territory his mind was already contemplating.  _Remember what you decided, _his one logical brain cell was scolding.  _Remember Ross._

_Ross who? _murmured the rest of his brain. 

He felt Rachel's hand sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt, across his stomach, and he discovered that he didn't have the willpower to stop her.  Her fingers drew laboriously slow spirals on his chest, sending chills down his spine.  His breathing became shallow, and he knew that he should stop her, slow things down, before everything got out of hand.  He knew that if she continued, things would happen, things that he would likely feel guilty about when the sun rose on Wednesday morning.

But he wasn't sure he cared anymore.  

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the image of a tiny white flag raising itself behind a battle-scarred, crumbling wall.

_I surrender._

He lost himself in her; ten minutes passed, or an hour, or a week – he had no idea how long.  All he knew was that he was with Rachel, in the way that had consumed his thoughts for days, had kept him awake at night, had prevented him from getting any work done all day long.  His hands traveled down her back, urging her closer to him, forcing away any sliver of oxygen that struggled to maintain its place between their two bodies.  He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, whispering her name mantra-like, clinging to the word as if the sound alone was keeping him sane.  Her breath caught in her throat, and he knew she had abandoned the fight as well.  

Her lips moved from his, caressing his chin, trailing down his neck as she fumbled with the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, helping him to sit up so that she could pull it over his head.  The garment was discarded, settling with a sigh of submission onto the wooden floor.  He stared up at her in awe, mesmerized by the simple beauty of her swollen mouth, and extended his hand to brush his thumb across her lower lip.  "Rach…."

His hand slid down her neck, along her shoulder, gliding down her arm, entwining her fingers with his.  He caught himself mentally cataloguing every detail, committing it all to memory, wanting to brand every breath, every touch, into his mind, wanting every exquisite detail forever emblazoned across his subconscious so that he could revisit it at any time.

His fingers found the buttons on her shirt, fumbling ever so slightly, drawing a nervous giggle from Rachel, and then that barrier fell to the ground alongside his own.  He cupped her shoulders in his hands, admiring her beauty, and then drew her face back down to his, stroking her cheek, cradling her against him.  

Somewhere in the background he became vaguely aware of the ringing of a telephone.  It sounded far away, as if in a dream, and he ignored it as such.  Rachel seemed content to do the same, and then the answering machine clicked on.

"Hi, you've reached Monica and Rachel.  Leave a message."  The machine beeped, and from halfway across the world, Monica's voice crackled into the apartment, filled with the static of thousands of miles of telephone wire.  

"…Rach…just got in….  …like 1 a.m. here, I'm not sure…there.  …bad connection.  …just wanted to…here okay.  Ross is…but a little….  He told me…feelings…he still loves Emily….  Greece is amazing…hot guys…gotta go.  Tell the boys….  Talk…soon."  

Chandler's mind ground to a halt.  His heart thumped against his ribcage.  _What did she say?_

Rachel seemed to be caught off guard as well, her fingernails digging into his forearms.  When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.  "Did she just say…what I think she said?"

Chandler cleared his throat.  "I think…I think she _did._"  

Rachel sat up, stared down at him, searching his face, trying to decipher his expression.  "Chandler?"

Wordlessly, he slid out from under her and extended his hand in her direction, helping her to her feet.  Without letting go, he turned toward her bedroom, leading her silently along behind him.

*** 

Thousands of miles away, in a Mediterranean hotel room, Monica cringed at the sudden burst of static on the telephone line.  She barely made out the sound of the answering machine beeping on the other end, and pressed on to finish the message before she was disconnected.

"Hey, Rach.  We just got in from having drinks.  I think it's like 1 a.m. here, I'm not sure what time it is there.  I hope you're getting this, it sounds like we have a bad connection.  Anyway, just wanted to let you know that we got here okay.  Ross is all right, I think, but a little confused.  He told me he still has feelings for you, but he still loves Emily, too, so….  Greece is amazing, there are so many hot guys!  OK, I gotta go.  Tell the boys and Phoebe we said hello.  Talk to you guys soon."

Her task complete, she replaced the handset on the cradle and kicked off her shoes.  She contemplated calling Joey, but a light tapping on the door caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see Ross slipping inside the room.  She smiled sympathetically at his hangdog expression, silently counting her blessings that he hadn't shown up sixty seconds earlier; she wasn't sure how he would feel about her leaving a message for Rachel that mentioned anything about his feelings.  "Hi, sweetie.  How did it go?  Did you speak to her?"

The look on his face said it all.  "Yeah, but as soon as I mentioned Rachel, she hung up on me.  She didn't even let me finish.  I didn't get to tell her that I still love her."  He tugged his fingers through his hair, leaving it wildly askew.  "I don't think she'll ever be able to forgive me, and who can blame her?"  He dropped onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.  "God, why do I always screw things up for myself?"

Monica eased herself down beside him and slid a reassuring arm around him, weighing her words carefully before she spoke.  "Maybe it's just…not meant to be, with Emily.  Maybe this whole thing is for the best."

He raised his head to stare at her incredulously.  "For the _best_??How can you say that?  I _love _Emily.  I _love _her.  She's wonderful and kind; we have so much fun!  And Monica, she _gets _me.  In a way that no one else ever has.  And I've hurt her, so badly.  How can _that_ be 'for the best'?!"

Monica frowned severely.  She'd been trying to get him to focus on what he wanted for the future, instead of dwelling on what had happened on Saturday.  "But…what about Rachel?"

Ross heaved a great sigh; his shoulders slumped with the weight of the past week.  "Rachel is…_Rachel_, you know?  I thought I was over it, but…obviously I'm not.  I don't – "  He broke off, seemingly at a loss.  "I don't know what to do."

Monica squeezed his hand.  "I don't know, either," she replied, speaking as much about her own problems as his.  

***


	11. Lover Lay Down

**_A/N:  I've been putting this off.  Unfortunately, I couldn't avoid it any longer.  After all the build-up, I hope you are all satisfied with the payoff._**

**Disclaimer:  **Nope.

**Chapter 11:**

**Lover Lay Down**

Rachel relaxed against the nest of pillows, watching Chandler under her eyelashes as he shed his clothing, the candlelight playing against his skin.  Shadows flickered around the room with his every movement, mirroring Rachel's nervous impatience with his process of undressing.  After what seemed like an eternity, he completed his task and eased onto the mattress beside her, propping himself up on one elbow.  He stared down at her with darkened eyes, making a thousand promises, each of which spread like wildfire throughout her body, the flames searing her skin and licking at her toes.  She reached up to stroke his cheek, the light stubble tickling the sensitive tips of her fingers as her hand moved downward towards his collarbone, where she settled for a moment before sliding around to the nape of his neck and threading her fingers through his chestnut hair.  He didn't resist when she pulled his mouth down to hers, but took the opportunity to slip his free hand underneath her hips, urging her closer.  

Any semblance of restraint that either may have possessed had evaporated; the kiss was deep, unrelenting, and Rachel felt herself being swallowed up by the intensity of her feelings.  Gone was the hesitation they had both exhibited in days past; gone, too, were her previous worries about the effect their actions may have on Ross or anybody else.  She had handed herself fully to Chandler when she closed the bedroom door behind them, shutting out any thoughts or concerns from the outside world as she did so.  

She wanted to tell him to hurry up, to dispense with the formalities, but, judging by his languid, patient movements, he was apparently in no mood to rush.  As his hand glided lazily across her hip, she succumbed to his pace, willing herself to savor the moment.  She studied his face, admiring the strong angles of his jaw line, the awed expression in his eyes, which somehow managed to be simultaneously gentle and intense.  She moved her hands across his shoulders, relishing the tremor in his body that her touch elicited.  The warm yellow light dancing around the room sparkled at her from within his dark pupils, suggesting an air of excited anticipation reminiscent of the emotion bubbling up from within her stomach, threatening to burst from her throat in an audible explosion of desire long-suppressed.  Unbidden, her hips moved under his, and he moaned against her lips, a soft, nearly silent vibration that resonated somewhere deep inside her, in a place that hadn't been awakened at any point in her recent memory.

Chandler's mouth returned to hers, his tongue probing, somewhat more hurried than before, tracing the underside of her top lip in curious exploration.  His hand moved to her hair, wrapping it around his fingers, his hand tightening into a fist that betrayed his outward composure.  Abandoning the silken halo in favor of bare skin, his fingers drifted along her jaw line, to her shoulder, along her arm, down to her ribcage, and then up, causing her to gasp in surprise at his caress.  "_Chandler_…oh, _God_, I need you…." His stomach clenched at the intimacy of his name on her lips.  Reflexively, he edged closer to her, bringing his entire body into contact with hers.  

His nimble fingers burned a trail of molten lava across her chest; her breathing became labored as she pressed kisses against his neck, willing him onward.  Unable to wait any longer, his hands slipped under her hips once more.  Her head fell back against the pillows and he held her gaze as he joined their bodies in one long, fluid motion, a deep, guttural sound issuing from his throat.  Her eyelids fluttered closed as they moved together, drifting off into a world where no one existed except the two of them.  She slid both of her arms around his waist and pulled him closer still.  He nuzzled her neck, tasting her, brushing kisses along her earlobe.  "Jesus Christ, I can't – I can't get enough of you, Rach…"

She moaned in response, awed by the unbelievably powerful emotions he evoked.  New, unidentified feelings erupted in her chest, alien sensations she had never experienced rising up in her throat.  She gazed up at his face as his hand wandered along her waist, and realized with a jolt that the sights, the sounds, the chemistry – everything – felt like _home.  _It was as if she'd been searching for this exact moment her entire life without realizing what she was looking for, and she was struck by the irony that, for the past four years, it had been right there in front of her.  Chandler's eyes sought hers, held them, and she felt vulnerable, as if he was looking right into her heart, directly into her soul, sensing her thoughts.  Her first instinct was to avert her eyes, but she was mesmerized, unable to look away.  Moments melted away, paraffin under a midday sun, and Rachel found herself awed as unspoken novels passed between them, painting elaborate stories of their pasts and futures, stories that audible words would only tarnish.

Watching her carefully for any signs of discomfort, Chandler quickened his pace.  He moved against her with an agile grace of which she hadn't previously thought him capable.  Supporting himself on one hand, he used the other to smooth her hair back, tracing the outline of her cheek as he moved his hand away, down her neck, across her shoulder.  His fingers danced along her arm, finally slowing to entwine with hers, pulling her hand to his chest and cradling it there.  She squeezed her eyes closed as her feelings intensified, gasping for breath as the passion built in her abdomen, and then she knew she couldn't take it any longer; a billion stars erupted in the darkness behind her eyelids.  Conscious thought fled; every cell of her body screamed his name.  Somewhere in the distance she heard him whispering, "Rachel, oh God…" as her hands flew around his neck, grasping for him, steadying herself as she fell back to Earth.  She felt his entire body tense as her nails dug into his shoulders, the bright lights receding.  He groaned deep in his throat and she forced her eyes open wide, memorizing every line in his face as he pressed himself into her.

Gasping for air, he collapsed against her, and, with some effort, she rolled them both onto their sides, affectionately brushing his hair away from his face, stroking his cheek, his neck, his shoulders, murmuring his name over and over.  Pressing kisses onto her forehead, he pulled her closer, holding her against his chest, relishing the feeling of her heartbeat racing alongside his own.  After several long moments, he loosened his grip on her and slowly opened his eyes.  Inches away, Rachel gazed back at him with an awed reverence, her eyes soft with satisfaction and warmth.  He sighed languidly as his mouth curled into a lethargic smile.  "Oh my God…"

Her eyes crinkled with understanding and amusement.  "I know!"

He traced large, lazy circles between her shoulder blades, studying her face closely.  "This is going to sound like an incredible understatement, but…_dude_."

She snuggled closer to him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, searching desperately for a meaningful way to describe how she was feeling but unable to locate an adequate combination of words anywhere in her vocabulary.  "It was…it was amazing."  

He shifted away from her and she frowned, tightening her hold.  "Where are you going?"

Chandler smiled and brushed a kiss into her hair.  "I'm going to blow out all these candles and lock the door.  I promise, I'll be right back."

Reluctantly, Rachel allowed him to slip from between the sheets and watched as he stepped into his jeans.  At the sight of his retreating back, she rolled onto her stomach, pulling the blankets more tightly around herself.  The sounds he made as he moved around the apartment sounded irrationally comforting; she listened as he lifted the window leading out onto the balcony and grinned into her pillow.

Outside, Chandler lit his cigarette and took a long drag.  The cool night air danced against his bare skin; shivering, he crossed his arms and stared, unseeing, across the street at the neighboring apartment building.  He hadn't been prepared for the visceral reaction he'd experienced as he watched Rachel's face shimmer in the candlelight.  Certainly, he had already known that he had strong feelings for her, but it had only been a few days.  What he was feeling now – what he _thought _he was feeling, anyway, as he had no prior experience to draw from – that took a long time to develop, months, years, even.  _Right??_

_And how long have you known Rachel? _his stubborn subconscious reminded him.

Uncomfortable with this line of thought, Chandler stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it over the railing.  _Not yet, _he insisted.  _Not ready for that yet._  He stepped back into the apartment and closed the window resolutely.  Making his way into the bedroom, he stopped short at the sight of Rachel, sound asleep, her hair fanned out over the pillow.  Hypnotized by her vulnerable beauty, he stared, his chest tightening as he noticed her hand curled into a fist around the edge of the blanket, tucking it under her chin, identical to the way she had lain just four days ago, in that hotel room on the other side of the Atlantic.  _Not.  Yet.  _Pointedly ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, he extinguished the candles and slipped back into bed beside her.

***


	12. Options

_A/N:  Wow.  I was just reading through my original outline, and man alive have I veered off track.  This story was only supposed to run for a *total* of 8 chapters, with the possibility for an Epilogue.  _

_Damn._

_At any rate, the story should move a little faster from here on out.  Thanks for sticking with me for so long._****

**Chapter 12:**

**Options**

"Rachel Green?"

Rachel looked up from the stack of crisply starched dress shirts over which she was daydreaming to find a gangly teenage boy standing in the doorway.  "Yes?"

"These are for you."  Only when he offered them to her did Rachel notice the large bouquet of creamy lilies and deep purple irises.  

"Oh!" She blushed, pleased.  "Thank you, ah…here."  She grabbed her purse from her small, untidy desk and rummaged through it until she located her wallet.  Smiling, she pulled out several ones for the tip and gratefully accepted the flowers.  The delivery boy thanked her and disappeared down the hallway as she buried her nose in the blossoms and inhaled the fragrant scent of springtime with delight.  Tucked away amidst the sprays of Queen Anne's Lace was a small card.  Giggling to herself, Rachel placed the arrangement on the corner of the desk and slid her thumbnail under the flap on the envelope.  The tiny card was plain white, with unfamiliar handwriting scrawled across that said simply, "_Dude_."  

Rachel blushed again, this time all the way to her toes, as, for easily the thousandth time in the past seven hours, memories of the previous evening came flooding back to her.  She glanced at the clock and sighed heavily.  _Seventy-eight minutes.  _Resigned, she slipped the card into her pants pocket and turned back to her task, Chandler's candlelit face swimming through her mind.  

***

_You have two new messages…First message: Today – 3:45 p.m.  _Rachel absentmindedly sorted the mail as her mother's sing-songy voice bounced into the apartment.  "Hi, Rach, it's your mo-om.  I'm going to be in the city tomorrow; I was hoping we could meet for lunch.  Call meeee!  Ciaaao!"  Rachel's eyes rolled skyward.  _Second message: Today – 5:37 p.m._  Her hands froze as she recognized Ross' baritone crackling out of the machine.  

"Hey, Rachel.  Um, I guess you aren't home from work yet.  I'll, ah, I'll call back later."  The machine beeped, signaling the end of the message, and Rachel dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.  She realized belatedly that she had squeezed the monthly electric bill into a crumpled paper bowtie.  _Why would Ross be calling me now?  What could he possibly have to say that couldn't wait until he gets back?_

There was, she knew, only _one_ explanation.

_Shit._

***

"What do you think?  Rach?"  

Rachel glanced up from the fingernail she was demolishing to find Phoebe's expectant gaze on her.  "Sounds great!"  Even to her own ears, her voice sounded falsely cheerful.

Phoebe's expression was amused.  "Wow…that's really not the reaction I was expecting."

Rachel frowned.  "I'm sorry, Pheebs…I wasn't – I wasn't exactly listening."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed."

Rachel sighed heavily.  "I'm sorry, really.  I've just got a lot on my mind."  She cleared her throat, refocused her attention.  "What were you saying?"

"Well, I asked you if you thought it was possible that I'm actually carrying three baby sea lions around inside me."  

Rachel flushed, mumbling another apology.

"What's up with you, anyway?"  Phoebe settled back against the chair cushions, propping her feet on the coffee table.  "You haven't been yourself all night."

Rachel sighed again, pulling her feet onto the couch and tucking them underneath her.  She laced her fingers through the handle of her ceramic mug and inhaled the thick citrus aroma of her Earl Grey tea.  "Can you keep a secret?"

Phoebe scoffed, rolling her eyes in disbelief.  "_Can_ I!?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Yeah-huh!"

Rachel leveled her gaze at her friend.  "Chandler and I…we've been…well – "

Phoebe giggled.  "Is that all?  God, I already knew about that."

Rachel's eyebrows skyrocketed.  "How?!"

The blonde tilted her head, an expression of supreme patience painted across her face.  "_Please_.  I'd have to be an idiot to not have noticed."

Rachel was aghast.  "But – but you've only seen us together _once_ since it all started!"

"I know!!"  She crossed her arms across her chest.  "Look, Rach, I knew about it that morning I called your hotel room, when you were so preoccupied with Monica and Joey."

"But _I _didn't even know about it then!  Hell - there _was_ no _'it'_ then!"

Phoebe merely smiled in response.

Flustered, Rachel shoved her hair back away from her face, squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a bit to clear it.  "Anyway.  So, we weren't going to do anything about it, you know, until Ross gets back from Greece, and then, well, then Mon called last night and left a message.  She said Ross was still in love with Emily.  So…"

Phoebe's eyes danced.  "So…?"

"So.  Ahem.  We…well, _you know.  _And – "

"How was it?"

"Phoebe!!!"

"What?!  You said you had a lot on your mind, and now you're telling me that you just slept with a guy we've both known for years – what?  You didn't expect me to be curious?!"  Her brow wrinkled knowingly.  "Was it not very good?"

"_No!_  I mean, _yes_, it was good!  I mean – _damn_ it, Phoebe, that's not the point!"

Phoebe sighed, exasperated.  "Well then, what the hell is the point?  Jeez, Rachel, if you don't hurry up and get to it, you're going to be telling me this story in the presence of three full-grown sea lions!"

Rachel stared into her cup, unsure about how quite to continue.  "Well, the thing is, I think…I think whatever it is that I'm feeling for Chandler…I think it's serious.  Or it _could _be serious.  It's…it's more than just, you know, _sex_.  I think – I think…I think I could really fall hard for him."

"Soooo…what's the problem?"

Without answering, Rachel reached over and pressed 'play' on the machine.  _You have one saved message.  _"Hey, Rachel.  Um, I guess you aren't home from work yet.  I'll, ah, I'll call back later."

Somber, Phoebe settled her head against the pillow-back of the chair.  "Oh."

Rachel eyed her rippling reflection in the mirror of her tea.  "Yeah.  'Oh.'"

***

Chandler swung open the door to apartment 19, whistling the theme song to _Gilligan's Island_ as he tossed his jacket across the foosball table.  "Joey?"  Dropping his keys onto the table by the door, he reached into the refrigerator and helped himself to a Red Stripe, wrenched the cap off of the bottle and pitched it into the garbage can with a dramatic basketball maneuver.  Joey wandered out of his bedroom tentatively as Chandler was imitating a roaring crowd, and settled the cordless phone onto the cradle.  Easing himself down onto one of the cushiony green stools at the counter, he surveyed Chandler with an apparent anxiety that made Chandler's stomach tighten involuntarily.  "_What?_"

Joey rested his elbows on the counter and eyed his roommate nervously.  "I just talked to Monica."

Chandler seemed to catch on, resting his beer bottle on the counter and narrowing his eyes in concentration.  "Is everything okay with you guys?"

Joey's face brightened ever so slightly.  "Yeah, I think so.  We talked about it a little bit; I apologized, she apologized.  Although I guess neither of us really have anything to apologize about.  Anyway, it's cool now."

Chandler clapped his friend's shoulder in congratulations.  "All right, man!  I know that's a relief for you."

Joey nodded, his face sliding back into its original melancholy.  "Yeah, it is."

Chandler took a draught of his beer.  "So…why the long face?"

Joey was the picture of discomfort.  "Well, ah…she told me something that I…well, I don't think she would normally have told me, since she and I don't really make a habit of telling each other stuff, but I guess she was trying so hard to make me see that everything was all right between us, that, well, she _did_ tell me – not that that really matters, it's just that – "

"_Joe_.  What's going on?"  Chandler's nervousness was increasing.

Joey toyed absently with an abandoned bread tie, wrapping it around and around his index finger, then straightening it out and starting over again.  "It's Ross."

Chandler felt his heart flutter momentarily in his chest.  "What about Ross?"

Joey's fingers stilled as his liquid brown eyes raised hesitantly to meet his roommate's.  "He decided that this whole Rachel thing is a sign."

A muscle twitched involuntarily in Chandler's jaw.  "A sign."

Joey nodded silently.

"A sign of _what_?"

Joey's dark head lowered, his eyes dropping back to examine the discarded tie, now coiled tightly as a snake ready to strike.  "He talked to Emily.  They decided to…take some time.  To…explore other options."

His beer forgotten, along with his good mood, Chandler stepped away from Joey, his mind reeling.  "Other _options_."

Joey looked up again, his brow furrowed.  "I'm sorry, dude."

Chandler stumbled back towards the door, fumbling for his keys.

Joey pushed the stool back and hurried to his feet, concerned.  "Where you going, man?"

"Out," Chandler bit.  

Before Joey could protest, he was gone.

*** 

"What are you gonna do?"  Phoebe's voice was laced with concern.

Rachel plunked her coffee mug onto the table and flung herself back against the sofa.  "I don't know!  What am I supposed to do, break everything to Ross over the fucking _telephone?!_"

"Rachel!  Language!  Sea lions!?"  Phoebe wrapped her arms around her protruding belly protectively.

Rachel shoved herself to her feet and began pacing the living room.  "I can't do it, I can't just _tell _him this stuff over the _phone!  _He'll flip out!"

"So just put him off – tell him you really need to talk to him when he gets back here."

"I can't do that either!"

Phoebe's eyes widened.  "Well, why not?!?"

"_Because_, Phoebe!  What is your first reaction when someone tells you they 'need to talk'?"

"Well, I – "

"You worry – immediately – you worry," Rachel answered her own question.  "You think the worst, and then you worry yourself sick.  You can't concentrate on _anything _else until you find out what it is that needs to be talked about."

"But – "

"But, _nothing._  Ross is on his honeymoon – well, he's on vacation, anyway – and he's not coming back here for like, _six _more days!  I don't want to be the one responsible for ruining his entire vacation!"

Phoebe didn't even bother trying to reply.

"And besides, you know how Ross is.  He won't leave things alone.  He'll call and call and _call_ until _finally _I break down and tell him – and God knows, he reacted badly enough when he found out that I had a date with Mark – can you _imagine _how he'll react when he finds out that I _slept _with his _best _friend!?"

"But Rachel – four days ago, Ross was getting _married_!"

Rachel's pacing stopped in front of the big picture window.  "Phoebe, seriously.  When has that kind of thing _ever _mattered in Ross' eyes?"

"Well, it's time someone changed that.  What's he going to do to you, anyway?  He's on the other side of the planet!"

Rachel stared up into the darkening sky.  "It's not _me_ I'm worried about."

***

Chandler thrust his hands into his pants pocket, wishing he'd thought to bring a jacket.  Nighttime was approaching rapidly, and despite the relative warmth of the day, the early May evening felt dank and chilly.  He jammed yet another cigarette between his lips and fumbled for his matches.  After pausing to strike the match, he applied flame to tobacco and resumed his brisk pace.  He had no idea how long he'd been walking, but he knew that he wasn't at all ready to turn back toward home.  He felt infused with energy, so strong was the force of his anger.  _Damn you, Ross!_

He pushed past a small cluster of patchouli-scented kids, nearly tripping over an enormous Labrador trailing along at the end of a knotted hemp leash.  Stepping around the animal, he turned into a small park and located an empty bench, onto which he immediately hurled himself, puffing out his fury in great acerbic, smoky bursts.

What bothered him the most was the injustice, Ross' unbelievable selfishness.  _He had his chance, _Chandler thought vehemently.  _Hell – he had *a million* chances – and he let her go!  What gives him the fucking right, after all this time – !!  _He thrust himself back against the wooden seat, filling his lungs with the acrid smoke, holding it there until he thought he would explode, then pushing it out in long, angry sighs.  Before his first cigarette was finished, he was fishing in his pocket for the pack.  After lighting the new stick with the tip of the old, he dropped the butt to the cobblestone walkway and crushed it under the toe of his loafer.

A new, less volatile voice was creeping its way into his subconscious.  _Who are you really angry at?  Ross?  Or yourself?  _Chandler hurriedly quelled the thought almost before it was even complete.

_He had his chance, goddammit._

***

Rachel spun as the door to the apartment opened, stifling her disappointment when Joey's face appeared in the opening.  "Hey, guys," he greeted them, closing the door behind himself.  "Have you seen Chandler?"  

Rachel turned back to the window.

Phoebe's calm voice was a sharp contrast to the palpable tension in the room.  "No, isn't he with you?"

Joey faltered.  "No – he was, but he…he went out a while ago.  I thought maybe he'd ended up here." 

Rachel stepped back from her vantage point and dragged herself into the kitchen.  She wrenched open the door to the refrigerator just as the telephone rang.  She snapped back to attention, meaning to let the answering machine pick up, but Joey's hand was already on the receiver.  "Joey – _no!!_"

"Hello?"  His expression was perplexed.  "Oh, hey, man!  How are you?"  He paused.  "Yeah, she's right – " Too late, realization dawned across his face.  " – here."  Mouthing a soundless 'Sorry' to a wide-eyed Rachel, he cautiously extended the telephone in her direction.  

Her face the very picture of panic, Rachel angrily snatched the receiver from his grip and took a deep breath before pressing it – harder than necessary – against her cheek.  

"Hello?"

***


	13. All or Nothing

_A/N: I hope you guys haven't forgotten about me! I'm sorry it took me so freaking long to get this posted. I thought I would never finish. Every time I sat down in front of the computer, my mind just went completely blank. _

_Thank you for the periodic encouragement, all of you who left reviews in my absence. I hope you aren't disappointed with what I'm giving you today. And I swear, it won't take me three months to post Chapter 14._

**Chapter 13:**

**All or Nothing**

"Hi, Rach."

It took all of the control Rachel had to force her voice to sound normal. "H – Hey, Ross."

For a moment, there was silence on the other end, and for one blissful second, she thought that perhaps they'd been disconnected. But then Ross spoke again. "Ah…how are you?"

Willing herself to form entire words, as opposed to non-syllabic squeaks, Rachel replied, "Good. I'm good! You? Having a good time? How's Mon? What's Greece like?" She grimaced, recognizing her rambling for what it was: a vain attempt to postpone the inevitable.

In typical Ross fashion, he addressed her questions methodically. "I'm okay, thanks. Yeah, we're having a good time. Mon's good. Greece is beautiful, really amazing. I'd…ah…I'd like to come back again someday, when…you know…things are…better."

Rachel murmured understanding and began to pace the kitchen. She was painfully aware of Phoebe and Joey watching her with undisguised interest. "Well, that's good then, that you're having fun." _Please, _she thought, _don't make me do this right now._

Ross, of course, pushed on, determined to finish the task he'd set out to do. "So, I was, ah, I was wondering…" He trailed off, clearly unsure how to continue. Rachel made no attempt to make it easier. "Wow, this is really hard."

She massaged her right temple, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so, trying to imagine herself someplace else, anywhere but in the kitchen, listening to Ross fumble for such unwelcome words. "What is?" she inquired, failing miserably at her attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Well, you know, you and I, we've…well, we've been through a lot together…" He paused again, and Rachel suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. She racked her brain frantically for a distraction, anything she could do to get off of the telephone, and fast, before he could go any further. Her eyes flew wildly between her two friends; Joey's face was a mask of concern, Phoebe's complacent and knowing. She silently screamed at the both of them: _For the love of God, get me out of this!_

Ross was speaking again. "…really meant a lot to me. And then, when I, ah, when I, _you know_, during the ceremony, well, I, I just wonder if maybe, you know…someone was trying to tell me something."

_Yeah, _she thought, feeling cruel. _Maybe someone was trying to tell you that, oh, I don't know, you should have paid more attention to the minister? _Instead, she said, "Trying to…tell you something?" She fumbled behind her for one of the kitchen chairs, trying to center herself in the room, or, more accurately, the universe. _Oh, God, please, this isn't really happening._

"Yeah. That maybe, maybe you and I…maybe we were too hasty, before. Maybe – "

Without warning, Phoebe let out a yell that could have rivaled any primal scream, surprising Rachel so much that she dropped the phone to the floor with a crash. Joey was at her side instantly. "Phoebe! Are you alright?"

Her blonde friend's face was pinched and red with pain as she apparently struggled for breath. "I…think…" she huffed, "I'm…having…a contraction…."

Rachel felt her heart rate accelerate as the adrenaline began to pump through her veins. She hurriedly stooped down, grabbing for the phone. Ross' voice was audible even from several feet away. "Rachel!? Rachel?!? What's going on!??"

"Ross, I'm sorry – I think Phoebe's in labor! I have to go!" She dropped the phone and scrambled around the kitchen, searching for her purse and keys. "OK, Pheebs, where is that bag you packed to keep over here? Oh, wait, there it is. OK. OK. Calm, I'm calm. Totally calm! OK. I'll just - I'll go downstairs and hail a cab, and you and Joey can take your time and meet me down there. CALM! Where's my cell phone? We need to call Frank and Alice. OK, what else, what else?" She turned to her friends, forcing herself to breathe. To her surprise, Phoebe was seated again, cheerfully peeling a banana. "What the hell!? Phoebe! What are you doing?! We don't have time for a snack! We have to _go_!!"

Phoebe looked up, a patronizing smile sliding across her face. "Come on, Rachel, seriously. Even if I was really in labor, we'd have _plenty _of time for a snack."

Rachel's forehead wrinkled, confused. "But – so you aren't _really _in labor?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Duh-huh."

"So – you were just…_faking _that?"

Phoebe's eyes glimmered.

"But – wh – " Rachel eyes widened with realization. "_Phoebe!!_"

Phoebe grinned, her mouth full of banana. "You're welcome."

---------

Chandler tripped up the last couple of stairs towards his apartment, grumbling under his breath as he searched his pockets for his matches. Successful, he paused in the stairwell and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette, momentarily distracted by the way the fire danced in his unsteady grasp. He gasped as the flame singed his fingertips and then, startled, he dropped the smoldering match to the floor, crushing it underneath the toe of his sneaker. He edged the freshly-lit cylinder to the corner of his mouth and squinted into the dim hallway, making his way toward the door to apartment 19. His vision was blurred from too much whiskey, a liquor he rarely touched, and his stomach was feeling less than reliable after the long walk back from the bar. All he really wanted was to get out of his clothes and into his bed – or at least into his bed - hopefully before the buzz wore off and the powerful mad he'd managed to drink off returned.

He staggered into the dark apartment, stumbling over a pair of Joey's tennis shoes and banging his hip into the corner of the foosball table, which caused him to howl silently in pain, dropping the lit cigarette onto the floor. Cursing, he resisted the urge to kick the offending object in retaliation and dropped to his knees, crawling after the bright red circle as it rolled across the linoleum and into the kitchen. He snatched it from the floor just before it disappeared underneath the refrigerator and, breathing a sigh of relief, he collapsed, his back against the cabinetry, and inhaled from the cigarette until he thought his lungs would burst.

After several long, quiet moments, he stood, ran the butt under the faucet to ensure that it was fully extinguished and dropped it into the trash can. His eyes had adjusted to the dark now, and he found his way into his bedroom with limited difficulty. Without bothering to remove his clothes, he fell into bed; he was asleep before his head hit the pillow, completely oblivious to Rachel's silent form on the mattress next to him. Sighing softly, relieved that he was safe, she curled her body around his and willed herself to sleep.

---------

"Mr. Bing?"

Chandler slapped frantically at the _extremely loudly _buzzing intercom, making a mental note to throw it out the window at the first opportunity. "_What!?_"

He tried to ignore the smirk in his assistant's voice. "Ms. Green on Line 3."

He exhaled violently and pressed the phone to his ear. "Rach?"

"Well, hello there, sunshine."

"Unnngggghhhh…."

"Have fun last night? You didn't seem to want to talk about it before work this morning."

"Unnnnnnnggggggghhhhh….." Chandler buried his face in his hands, blocking out the returning images of his solitary bar-hopping the previous evening. _Mostly solitary, _he corrected himself. "Made some new friends."

"Oh, _really?_"

He grunted affirmatively. "A couple of really nice guys. From down south. I think one of 'em was wearing cowboy boots. Maybe both of them. They introduced me to another friend of theirs, name of Jack Daniels. There was, well, there was hootin'. And, I daresay, some hollerin'."

Rachel chuckled sympathetically. "You must be feeling pretty rough, then."

"One might say that." He stared at a nondescript spot on the wall opposite. "How are you?"

She paused briefly, just long enough for him to deduce that she, too, had heard about Ross' decision. "I'm okay."

"I gather you heard the great news, too." His fists clenched involuntarily at the mere memory of Joey's revelation.

"Ross called."

Chandler quelled the urge to run upstairs and fling himself from the rooftop. "He called."

"Twice. Left a message the first time, saying nothing, saying everything. I planned to avoid him, but unfortunately Joey grabbed the phone when he called back."

He squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself for the bad news. "And?"

"You can relax, sweetie. Phoebe saved me before he could say anything telling."

He felt his entire body _unclench._ "I love Phoebe. Remind me to buy her something pretty."

"We can go in on it together. Look. We need to talk about this, form a plan of attack. Strength in numbers. I really don't know what the fuck to do, I – hang on – " He heard a commotion in the background. "Holy shit. I gotta go. My mother is here. Security is involved. Come over tonight?"

"You got it."

"Okay, honey. Feel better." The phone clicked, and she was gone. Chandler replaced the handset and pressed his forehead against the cool surface of his computer screen. He grappled blindly for the intercom button on his phone. "Helen."

"Yes?"

"Please. Stop screaming. And could you get me some coffee?"

"Sure thing. Should I bring some aspirin while I'm at it?"

"Helen, you're a goddamn angel."

----------

"Honestly, darling, I don't see what the big deal is. I just wanted to have lunch with my daughter. Is that a crime?"

"Only when you completely ignore the front desk clerk and plow upstairs with no permission or credentials. Those security guards can arrest people, you know. Didn't you see the handcuffs?"

"Please. Those handcuffs have probably never even been opened. Although – " Sandra Green looked around cautiously before motioning for Rachel to lean closer. Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she murmured, "I wouldn't mind if the blonde one wanted to test his out on me."

"Mother!!"

"What?! I'm just saying…" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously in the direction of the guard in question. "He's very handsome. You should ask him out. Want me to get his number?"

Rachel sighed in exasperation. "Mom. I don't need your help finding dates. Besides, he's really not my type. I'm not interested in pursuing a relationship with a man who doesn't know a single three-syllable word."

Sandra's eyes sparkled. "Who said anything about a relationship?"

Rachel buried her face in her hands, groaning. _I'm not having this conversation. This isn't real._

The older woman's laugh tinkled daintily from across the desk. "You need to lighten up, dear."

----------

Rachel dropped her purse onto the counter and kicked her shoes across the room. The day had been a complete wash. After the fiasco with her mother, she'd had to help two nattering debutantes pick out gowns for some upcoming country club gala. It had taken every ounce of willpower she'd had not to tell the both of them to get the hell over themselves and take a peek at the real world. Then she remembered her previous life, before she'd left Barry at the altar, and berated herself for being a hypocrite. She'd maintained a perfectly cordial façade, that is, until the smirkier of the two girls had called her "ma'am". After that, she'd politely excused herself, convinced a co-worker to take over for her, and spent twenty minutes in the ladies' room, screaming into a wad of paper towels. No doubt the janitorial staff thought she was off her rocker, but the only other – albeit more appealing – alternative had been begging off sick and she'd spent too much money in London to lose a half day's pay.

She pointedly avoided looking at the answering machine and shed her clothes on the way to the shower. _God forbid Monica should come home early – clothes on the floor, wine glasses in the sink – her head would probably explode at the mere sight of it. And then she'd most likely come back to haunt me for not cleaning up the bits of her brain thoroughly enough._

_Easy, Rachel. Now you're just being a bitch. _She sighed and turned the hot water on. _Calgon, take me away. And bring me a beer while you're at it._

_-------------_

Across the hall, Chandler himself was just stepping out of the shower. It had taken twelve extra-strength aspirin and a twenty-minute nap in his desk chair, but his headache had finally dissipated sometime around 3:00. Now that he was clean, he felt almost like himself again. He threw on jeans and a t-shirt and flopped down into one of the Barcaloungers, shooing the duck away with one of his bare feet just as Joey opened the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Hey, man."

"Hey, Joe."

His friend's face was sympathetic. "You okay?"

Chandler sighed, rumpling his still-damp hair with his fingers. "The doctors say I'll live."

The dark-haired man sauntered across the apartment, dropping into the second recliner. "Talk to Rachel today?"

Chandler nodded. "This morning."

Joey toyed with the remote control, unable to meet Chandler's eyes. "She tell you…?"

"Yeah. She told me." He pulled his legs up, crossing them Indian style. "We're really in a tight spot."

Joey nodded, but remained silent.

"In case you missed the cue, this is the part of the conversation where you give me advice."

Joey smiled wanly. "I wish I had some for you, dude. But this is…it's just such a…I really have no idea what to tell you. I'm sorry."

Chandler rested his head against the chair back. "Don't be. It's not like you didn't warn me."

Joey opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider.

Chandler raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead, Joe."

His roommate cleared his throat, dropped the remote onto his lap. "I just, I was just wondering…what is it that you're looking for? With Rachel. I mean, I know you said that you thought it was more than just the sex, I just…I mean, is it? More than that?"

Chandler studied the ceiling. "This thing, it's so weird. It's like it's been staring me in the face for years, and I never even noticed it. It should feel strange, I know it should. But…it doesn't." He counted three, four cracks in the tile above his head. "And she's my friend, man. A _good_ friend. And God knows, there're a _lot _of…_complications. _But I just, I don't…I don't notice that, or think about it. When I'm with her. None of it matters."

Joey considered the words. "You're walking a line, man. There's more than one relationship at stake here. You've just gotta figure out how important this Rachel thing is, dude. What it's worth to you."

"I know, Joe. Believe me I do." He lowered his gaze, met his friend's eyes. "With this kind of situation, it has to be all or nothing."

Joey nodded silently, his eyes betraying his concern. "All or nothing," he repeated.

Chandler dropped his feet to the floor, toed the carpet. "But honestly, Joey, the thing is, that's not really true." He sighed heavily. "The nothing? That isn't an option anymore."

---------

_A/N: Hot DAMN it feels good to get that out! Even if it sucks, I'm thrilled: I finished a whole chapter – short though it may be. Writer's block is such a pain in the ass! Reviews are welcome, but I'm out of practice, so please, be kind...._


	14. Untruths

_A/N: OK, so I totally lied. It took me three months to post Chapter 14. I won't make any promises about 15, since I'm apparently terrible at keeping my fanfic promises, but I will tell you that this is the part of the story that I have been struggling with since day one – how to get here, how exactly to handle it – so hopefully now it'll be easier to continue. Of course, if I'm not mistaken, I've said that before...anyway, here it is._

_Many thanks to anyone reading this, for even bothering to read it after all this time._

**Disclaimer:** Since it's been so long, I guess I'd better remind you that I am not in any way affiliated with Warner Bros. or BKC. Not that it would matter anyway, at this point, seeing as they live only in syndication and on DVD these days. Anyway, these characters aren't mine. If they were, the show would have ended rather differently, and there would be a LOT of really pissed-off fans out there. I'd be happy though. And rich, too.

**Chapter 14: **

**Untruths**

"So, we're agreed, then," Rachel began, leaning back against Chandler's T-shirt-clad torso, threading her fingers through his. "We do whatever we can to keep this whole thing from Ross _until _he gets back."

Chandler nodded, studying her long, graceful fingers. "Whatever we can."

"Even if we have to lie."

She couldn't see his face, but she felt him nodding – albeit reluctantly - against her hair.

"And then, once he's back in the States, we sit him down, _together, _and we tell him exactly what's going on."

Chandler nodded again. "Unless he's miraculously reunited with Emily, in which case we leave well enough alone and ease him into it."

Rachel smiled silently. _You're not saying it out loud, Chandler Bing, but I still hear you. You feel it, too. _The thought gave her a little thrill, but she kept that to herself.

"So," Chandler said, "if – _when_ – Ross calls you again, what do you do?"

Rachel sat up straight, at mock-attention. "I tell him I'm running late for plans with a friend," she recited robotically.

"And what if he calls you at work?"

"I tell him I'm too busy to talk."

"Very good. Anything beyond that, you'll just have to wing it. It isn't really important that he really believes you, just that he doesn't force you to tell him anything _important_ over the phone."

"Got it." She paused, thoughtful. "What if he calls you? Shouldn't we have a plan for that?"

Chandler scoffed. "He won't. Guys don't do that."

"Ah. I forgot. The Manly Man's Manual to Maximizing His Manliness prohibits any such behavior."

"Exactly."

Rachel turned her face into his chest, relishing the moment when his arms pulled her closer.

----------

Rachel counted herself fortunate when Sunday arrived and she'd only been forced to dodge Ross twice, each time at home, in the evening, and each time, using the "I'm really late" lie. The second time, she'd detected a hint of doubt in his voice, but she'd managed to sidestep his inquiries nonetheless. She and Chandler spent most of Sunday quietly, and Rachel used the time to play in her mind, over and over, the way she _hoped _the conversation with Ross would go – if it took place at all, which she was praying it wouldn't. By the time Joey left to meet the Gellers at the airport, she was sure she would collapse with mental exhaustion.

After Joey had been gone for nearly two hours, Chandler looked up from his book and warmed her slightly with a sympathetic smile. "Wanna go downstairs and get some coffee?"

"Or we could, we could just go downstairs and _never come back._ I've got a little savings account. It's not much, but if we live cheap, and like, get a really small apartment or – or - _buy _a _tent_, I bet we could spend the next six months hiding out in North Carolina. And then, once it's safe, we could get both jobs, start all over. We got skills. We're educated. We're _employable. _What do you think?"

"That sounds great, Rach. I _love _camping. And what a great career move for you! I hear the Carolinas have a _booming _fashion industry. 'The American Milan', I've heard some say."

Rachel buried her face in one of the sofa pillows, screamed into the thick cushion. "This is a _nightmare,_" she moaned, her voice muffled. She sniffed, studied the pillow. "Aw, _crap_."

"What?"

"There's a wine stain on this pillow. _Monica's_ pillow."

Chandler feigned terror, shrinking against the back of his chair before leaping to his feet and hurrying towards the door. "That settles it. I'll get my backpack." He laughed as the offending pillow hit him between the shoulder blades. "Get dressed, Rach. Central Perk. I'll meet you in the hall."

---------

Twenty minutes later, Rachel was sipping a macchiato and half-heartedly reading _People. _She'd gotten about halfway through the "Is he right for you?" quiz when Joey sauntered into the coffee house. "Hey guys...just thought I'd give you a heads up. The Gellers have landed. They're just dropping their bags off at your place, Rach, and then they'll be down here."

If Chandler stiffened slightly at the other end of the couch, Rachel pretended not to notice. Joey helped himself to a cup of coffee from one of the air pots at the counter, then sat down at the two-top beside Rachel.

She cleared her throat nervously. "How did, um, how did Ross seem?"

Joey's eyebrows knitted together. "If you're asking me what he's thinking, then the answer is I have no idea." He paused. "He was really, really quiet in the cab, though."

Chandler frowned. "Great. Introspective Ross. My personal favorite." Instinctively, he edged closer to Rachel.

"Maybe he's just tired," Joey suggested hopefully.

"Here's hoping," Rachel replied.

As if on cue, the door to the café opened, and in stepped the dark-haired siblings. Greetings bounced between the friends. Rachel couldn't help but notice that when she and Chandler sat back down after the round of welcoming hugs, there was no longer room for anyone to sit between them.

"So!" she began in a too-high voice. "Tell us _all _about Greece!"

They all sat quietly, as Monica, aided only occasionally by Ross, regaled them with the highlights of the trip. Rachel struggled to look interested, eventually admitting to herself that she was fighting a losing battle. Guiltily, she allowed her eyes to glaze over, retreating back into her mental rehearsal of the inevitable Conversation With Ross. Luckily, Monica didn't seem to notice. After what seemed like an hour, she paused long enough to signal Gunther for a new cup of coffee. "So what did you guys do all week?"

Rachel shifted nervously at the innocent question, tried to sound natural when she replied. "Oh, you know, the usual. Work. Hanging out. Coffee. Boring ol' New York. Same old, same old. Nothing exciting." _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

Ross cleared his throat. "Really? When I talked to you, it sure seemed like you were having a busy week. Socially." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Rachel ignored the heat she could feel rising into her face. "Oh, yeah, well, you know, my mom was in town a couple of days, so I spent some time with her."

She thought she saw Ross' eyes narrow imperceptibly, but he said nothing.

Monica, re-energized from her coffee, resumed her diatribe about the trip. By the time she began to slow, it was closing in on seven o'clock. "Wow," she said, yawning. "The time difference is really catching up with me." She drained her mug and stood, stretching. "I think I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower, get to bed early. I have to work tomorrow afternoon."

Rachel nodded as Monica left, not moving from her seat beside Chandler, ignoring Ross' penetrating stare, memorizing the cover of the magazine in her lap. _Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact. Wow, looks like Meg Ryan's been dipping into the plastic surgery fund._

After a long moment, the elder Geller stood as well. "Monica's right. It's getting pretty late for me. I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow?" At his friends' murmured assent, he turned his attention directly to Rachel. "Um, Rach? Can I, can I talk to you for a second?"

_Fuck. _Nodding numbly, she stood, and knew she'd found new meaning for the phrase "_my blood ran cold". _Fighting off a shudder, she followed Ross out onto the sidewalk, feeling Chandler's eyes burning into her back. "What's up, Ross?"

Ross studied her for a few seconds, before rounding his shoulders and leaning against the apartment building's brick wall. "Listen, I, uh, I have some things I want to talk to you about, but, ah...well, it's too complicated to get into right now. It's been a long day – a long _week_, no matter what Monica says – and right now I just want to get home and get to bed. But I do need to talk to you."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest. "Ross, look, I don't – "

"No, wait," he interrupted. "Just, before you say anything, let me get a good night's sleep. I have a lot to tell you, and I'd rather not hash it out right here in front of everyone in the city." He toed the concrete, turning his woeful brown eyes to hers. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night? Nothing fancy. In fact, I'd like to just order in and eat at my place. That way, we can talk. Just the two of us." His voice was only one note shy of begging. "Please, Rach. It's been a really..._tough _week, and it would make things so much better if you would just hear me out. It would really mean a lot to me."

Sighing, she relinquished her hold on the all-for-one plan she and Chandler had developed. "Dinner. Sure."

Her agreement seemed to lift his spirits somewhat, and he pushed off from the wall with a tired smile. "Thanks, Rach. You won't regret it. What do you say, 7:30 tomorrow?"

She forced a smile in return. "Sure."

"Great. Great!" He leaned toward her, pressing a kiss against her forehead before she could step back. "I'll see you then. 'Night."

"Night," she murmured, defeated. As he disappeared upstairs, she wrenched open the door to Central Perk.

Chandler made no attempt to hide his curiosity. "So? What's the plan? When's our little pow-wow?"

Rachel waved dejectedly to Gunther for a refill, sinking onto the sofa next to Chandler. "Pow-wow's a no-go. I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night. His place. '_Just the two of us', _so_ 'we can talk'."_ She pressed her face into Chandler's shoulder, Joey looking on. "Damn!"

Chandler circled her with his arms, swallowed hard. "It's gonna be okay, Rach," he said, injecting confidence into his voice. "You'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?" Her voice sounded small, afraid.

His jaw clenched, unclenched. "Well," he said, his voice flat, "The American Milan isn't going anywhere."

--------

"Thank you, Mrs. Karakas," Rachel forced a smile at her final customer of the day. "Enjoy the cruise."

"Thank _you_, dear, you're a miracle worker." The elderly woman disappeared into the hallway, leaving a deflated Rachel behind with only the clock for company. Whereas each day the previous week had crept by as she anticipated her evenings with Chandler, today she had watched in horror as the hours flew by at warp speed. Now she had only ten minutes until she had to head home and prepare for the dreaded dinner date, or The Meal of Torture, as she had not-so-affectionately dubbed it to herself. She finished the small amount of paperwork that remained and reluctantly gathered her belongings. _May as well get a move on._

---------

At 7:35, she found herself staring at the door to Ross' apartment, fighting the urge to turn on her heel and run home as quickly as her feet would carry her. After battling with herself for several long moments, she hurriedly rapped on the door before her cowardice sent her careening down the stairs.

Ross opened the door almost immediately, smiling warmly at her as he ushered her in. "Hi, Rach." He attempted to plant a welcoming kiss against her cheek, caught only air as she wriggled out of the light jacket she was wearing. Frowning slightly, he silently closed the door. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got wine."

Rachel nodded absently as she lowered herself timidly onto the sofa. "Actually, I'll just have some water. Thanks." She folded her hands in her lap as he disappeared into the kitchen, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in her stomach. Deep within the anxiety-induced fog enveloping her brain, she heard Chandler's voice, murmuring reassurances. _Don't fidget. Stay calm. You're going to be fine. _After several hours of deliberation the night before, the two of them had settled on a final version of her side of tonight's conversation; a well-rehearsed, detail-limited explanation. It gave Ross enough information to make him understand where he stood with Rachel, but left unsaid what was necessary to spare his feelings. For the moment.

"How was your day?" Ross asked, re-entering from the kitchen.

She accepted the glass of water, breathed an inward sigh of relief when he seated himself in the club chair to her left instead of the empty sofa space on her right. "It was fine. Yours?"

Ross studied his knees, his nervousness apparent, perhaps even more so than hers. "Also fine. I slept late, which I needed, then I tried to catch up on some work, but..." Despite her dearth of romantic feelings towards him, he was still her friend, and the emotional fatigue so apparent in his voice still tugged at her. "Anyway, that's not important. I ordered Chinese, I hope that's okay?" At her nod, he continued. "It's in the kitchen. Do you want me to get you a plate?"

She forced herself to relax, settled back against the sofa cushions. "Actually, I'm okay right now."

He nodded, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So."

She eyed him nervously. "So."

"I've been doing some thinking. About you and me. Everything that's happened between us." His discomfort no longer hidden, he stood, walked over to the window, began to pace slowly, methodically. After a few laps, he stopped, his back to her, and turned his eyes to the street below. "Do _you_ ever think about us, Rachel?"

_Here we go. _She closed her eyes, counted to ten. "Well, I mean, sure, occasionally. We had some good times, made some nice memories. Of course I think about it now and then."

Still he kept his back to her. "Well, sure. We've got quite a history. But that's not really what I meant." Now he turned, facing her, bathing her in that chocolate gaze of his, eyes like a mournful Labrador, telling a million sad stories. She squashed the sympathetic twinge in her chest. He pressed on, "I meant, do you ever think about _us_, now, in the present tense."

She sighed, leaned forward, lowering her eyes to the floor at her feet. "I used to, Ross. I really did. But then...you know, things changed. We changed. You got engaged. It seemed silly to keep hanging on to the past." She raised her chin, looked up at him. "I had to move on. It was for the best."

Ross ran a nervous hand through his slightly mussed hair, dropped himself onto the couch beside her. "But what about now?" His tension was palpable; combined with her own, it was nearly unbearable.

She swallowed, stifled the urge to slide away from him. Further down the couch. Through the apartment door. Down the hall. Into the street. "Nothing has changed, Ross."

Hurt flashed in his eyes, clear as lightning. It burned for a moment, then ebbed slightly. "Everything has changed, Rachel. I'm not getting married, for one." Before she could protest, he slipped his hand around hers, continued. "I know what you're going to say, that it's too soon, that I need to take some time, but I just, I don't think that's true. I think we've wasted too much time already."

"Ross, I just – "

"No, wait. Let me finish. I've loved you for a long, long time, Rachel. Even when things got really ugly between us, I still loved you. Maybe that's _why _things got so ugly. Losing you, it was the one of the worst things I've ever experienced...sometimes I think it was worse even than my divorce. Because it was _my _fault, all of it. I was so stupid, so afraid of losing you, I just, I couldn't stop myself from smothering you. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was hurting you, but I couldn't stop. And then, when you pushed me away, I was so upset, I didn't know what to do...if I could go back and erase what happened, God knows I would. In a second. But I can't." He cleared his throat, took a long, slow breath. "I know I hurt you. I know I ruined the trust we had built. But you have to believe me, I _never _stopped loving you. I thought that I had, I thought I was over it, but after what happened in London, it's pretty clear that I was wrong. Standing up there with Emily, it just felt...I don't know...it didn't feel the way it was supposed to. The way I thought that it would. I think – no, I _know _now that I jumped into things with Emily. I went too fast, didn't think it through. If I had, I would have known that I was making a mistake." He paused, stood again, his edginess more pronounced. He shoved his hands in his pockets and settled his gaze on her once more, studying her, gauging her reaction to his words. "I don't know, Rach, I just, the only time things have ever felt _right _for me was when I was with you. I've been trying to get that feeling back, you know, with Bonnie, and then with Emily...but it just hasn't been there. Something has always been missing."

Silently, Rachel studied her hands, pressing the clammy palms against the coarse fabric of her jeans. She knew he was waiting for a response, but she wasn't sure how to begin. How best to tell him that it was too late, that she'd moved on for good, that she was in love with someone else. _In love. Holy shit. I'm in love with Chandler. _It was the first time she'd really acknowledged what she was feeling. The weight of it seemed to descend upon her all at once, squeezing her heart until it ached. She suddenly felt guilty just sitting there, felt that she should be on her feet, announcing it to the world at top volume, instead of hiding it carefully away in her every move, cautiously ensuring that it didn't show through in her eyes, or in her manner. "Ross, listen." She turned her face upward, towards his baleful stare, and measured her words. "Please, sit down."

Reluctantly, as if sensing that he wouldn't like whatever it was that she was about to say, he eased himself onto the sofa without speaking.

She took a deep breath. "Everything that you've said, it means a lot to me. It really does. What I said before is true, I did think about us a lot. I used to wonder what would have happened if I'd been more understanding about your fears, if I'd reassured you, instead of prickling every time you expressed concern. But," she hurried along, as he started to interrupt, "I also meant the other part. About moving on. I'm sorry, Ross, but I could only hold out hope for so long. And once I worked out that we weren't meant to be, I closed that chapter of my life. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to reopen it." Now it was her turn to take his hand. "And the truth is, there's someone else."

Ross' eyes clouded over, and she knew the full effect of her words had penetrated his fragile façade of optimism. He swallowed, cleared his throat. "Someone else. When did this happen?"

She faltered here, for a moment, knowing that it was imperative to avoid specifics. "Recently."

"Only since Joshua?" he asked. "It can't be very serious. If you'll just – "

She silenced him with her eyes, forced herself to keep her voice even. "Ross, you were ready to _marry _Emily after just as short a period of time."

Here he frowned, his eyes pleading. "And I was wrong. Rach, maybe – "

She shook her head resolutely. "I'm not wrong about this."

Sadly, and with effort, he slid his hands from her grasp.

"I'm sorry, Ross. I don't like hurting you. You have to know that."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I know."

"I had to be honest. Anything less wouldn't be fair to...to anyone. Least of all you."

Silence fell, and remained for several long minutes. Finally, Ross spoke again. "So, this guy. What's his name?"

Hating herself, she repeated the words she and Chandler had decided on, knowing this question would eventually come. "That isn't important right now. He's just a person." The untruth burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her, tasting unpleasantly like the General Tsao's chicken that sat, untouched and unwanted, on the kitchen counter. She started to reach for his hand, stopped herself. "Ross? Are you okay?"

His tired eyes glided back to hers, unfocused, bleary. "Can you just tell me one thing? If...if it weren't for this guy, this _person_...do you think...?"

She cringed inwardly at the horrible hypothetical question. "I don't know, Ross. I just...I don't know." No longer able to stop herself, she leaned toward him, tugging at his shirtsleeve until he gave in, allowed her to pull him into her embrace. "I will always love you, you know. You'll always be important to me." When he didn't respond, she pressed on. "I know it's hard to believe right now, considering everything you've been through in the past week, but these things do happen for a reason, Ross. It will all work itself out, you'll see."

Purposefully, Ross disentangled himself from her arms and pushed himself to his feet. "You're right about one thing. It is hard to believe."

She stood, too, sensing that it was time for her to leave. She reached for his hand again, but he pressed his palms flat against his legs, his body language leaving no question about his feelings.

She cleared her throat, picked up her bag, then her jacket. "I'm going to go, Ross. Give you some time." She turned, stepped toward the door. "If you need anything, you know where we are."

He nodded curtly, seemingly frozen to his spot on the floor.

Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it. "I'll see you soon." She was in the hallway, and still he hadn't moved. She turned back to him one last time. He inclined his head, ever so slightly, and she understood. Everything that needed to be said, had been. Now he was left, all alone, to pick up the pieces of all that had happened. Bowing her head, she eased the door shut.

--------

The trip up the stairs leading to her apartment seemed to take an eternity, her feet heavier with every step. The only thing that carried her all the way to her floor was the knowledge that Chandler was waiting in his apartment, anxious to hear from her. She approached his door with a heavy heart, the knowledge of how her admission had hurt Ross inescapable. She knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, dragging herself into the apartment and directly into Chandler's arms.

Relieved, he squeezed her until she thought she would suffocate. Still it wasn't enough to erase the mental image of Ross, standing alone in his living room, his heart in pieces at his feet. "Tighter," she begged. Chandler obliged, tugging her backwards to the sofa, not loosening his grip on her for a second. As he sat, he pulled her onto his lap, smoothing her hair with one hand and gripping her shoulder with the other. When she lifted her face from his neck, he said, "Tell me." She did, her head resting against his collarbone, his fingers fluttering reassuringly over the curve of her shoulder. She felt his tension as she relayed the conversation, heard the tormented sigh that gushed out of him, ruffling her hair, as she described Ross' demeanor as she was leaving. After she finished, they sat silently, lost in their own thoughts.

Exhausted, she burrowed deeper into his embrace, absorbing his body heat as it chased away the cold glove that had gripped her progressively tighter since Ross' arrival on Sunday. "Thank you, Chandler, for being here, for doing this. I'd be ruined if you weren't here."

His arms tightened around her infinitesimally. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. "You wouldn't even be in this position if I weren't here. Or hadn't been _there_, rather."

"But thank _God _you were." Suddenly she was so full of Chandler, overflowing with him, with so many contrasting emotions that she wasn't sure where one stopped and the next began. Gratitude, affection, desire, love, all mingling together, but most of all, the love, so thick and all-consuming that she was dizzy with it, with the power of it. The need to tell him, to _say the words_, so desperate that she didn't even stop to question herself. "I love you, Chandler," she said, raising her eyes, brimming with sincerity, to his, wide and flashing with shock, just as the door to the apartment opened and Ross slipped inside, his arms full, calling out as he turned to close the apartment door. "Joey? Chandler? Is anyone – "

There was no time to react, no time to keep him from seeing. She watched in horror as Ross turned, as if in slow motion, and processed the image of them, wrapped around one another, Chandler's hand buried in her hair, hers locked around his neck. His eyes filled with disbelief, fading into bitter understanding. Although it was a pointless gesture, she slid off of Chandler's lap, perching herself uneasily beside him on the edge of the sofa.

Chandler spoke first. "Ross, look, it's – "

"No, dude, don't. Just..._fucking don't_." His gaze settled on Rachel. "Just _'some person'_, huh, Rach?"

"Ross – "

Dropping several cartons of familiar-smelling Chinese food onto the counter, he wrenched open the door. He paused in the doorway, as both Chandler and Rachel rose to their feet hurriedly, instinctively wanting to stop him, to _explain._ He pointedly avoided Rachel, locking his fiery eyes on Chandler instead. "_Well. _Well." A statement, not a question. One word, so condemning.

"Ross, let me explain – "

Ross all but snarled in reply. "Not much to explain, is there? It's pretty clear." He appraised his old college roommate as he backed out of the apartment. "I hope it's worth it, dude." His eyes fluttered to Rachel, lingering for only a second, scorching her with anger and hurt and betrayal.

And then he was gone.

--------


	15. Revelations

_A/N: Wow...I am really, really out of practice. I hope it isn't a huge let-down. More on the way, soon._

Friends _and the characters belong to BKC and Warner Bros., not me. Sadly._

_

* * *

_**  
**

**Chapter 15: **

**Eggshells**

Rachel stared in silent horror at the Magna-Doodle – swinging wildly from the slamming force of Ross' anger - as Chandler stalked over and wrenched the door open.

"It won't do any good to go after him," she said. "You know he's completely unreasonable when he's angry. It'll just make it worse."

At her words - and the sight of the empty hallway - Chandler reluctantly stepped back inside and resisted the urge to kick everything within leg's length. He shoved his fingers through his hair, hissing out a frustrated breath. "Well," he growled, "_that _went well."

Rachel sank onto the sofa, rubbing furiously at the sharp points of pain now thrumming in her temples. "Yeah. _Great._" Hugging a pillow to her stomach, she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. "Now what are we gonna do?"

"I don't – " Chandler began, as the door to the apartment eased open and Joey ambled in cautiously.

"Hey, guys," he said. "I, um, I saw Ross downstairs. I'm guessing…?" The expressions on his friends' faces left no doubt. "Right. Well." He tugged open the refrigerator door, grabbed three beers. "Looks like you guys could use these."

Chandler strode over to the counter. "Forget the beer. We need the strong stuff."

* * *

Sometime around 3 a.m., Rachel stumbled across the hall. Trying her best to be as quiet as possible, she carefully picked her way through the apartment, grateful for perhaps the first time since she'd moved in that Monica was so meticulous about the condition of the apartment. With no obstacles strewn along the floor, she found her bedroom door without incident. Humming slightly drunkenly to herself, she tugged her jeans off and tossed them across the room, following quickly with her bra. Clad in only a tank top, she slid under the covers with a blissful sigh, determined to fall asleep before any of the night's events surfaced in her vodka-clouded mind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on convincing herself that the room was not, in fact, spinning, eventually dangling one leg over the side of the bed and planting her foot firmly on the floor. Just as the room righted itself, and she started to drift off, something…_different_ floated through her subconscious, and her eyes popped open. Staring into the dark, she struggled to focus on the ghost of the memory. _Something…before the Bad Thing happened…something else…._

_Shit._

_I told Chandler I loved him._

_Shitshitshitshitshit!_

_

* * *

_

Across the hall, Chandler, too, was fighting the spins. He lay as still as possible on his back, not allowing his eyes to close, concentrating on the ceiling tiles suspended in the shadows above his bed. The liquor, however, had not dulled _his_ memory of Rachel's revelation.

_She said she loves me. _

He fought the urge to smoke, stifled the craving, pretended not to notice that his fingers were tingling for the security of the familiar habit. _Joey'll smell it. He'll come in here, he'll yell at me…_

_She said she loves me. _

_Fuck it._

He eased himself out of bed, fumbling in the dark for the light switch. Finding it, he located the half-smoked pack of cigarettes on his nightstand and wrenched open the window behind his bed. Perched uncomfortably with his knees on his pillow, hanging halfway out the window, he inhaled rapidly, exhaling into the humid May air.

_She loves me._

_Ross loves her._

_What the hell was I thinking?_

He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the windowsill with one hand. He thought of Rachel, lying there beside him for the past week, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Of lying awake at night, watching her breathe. Of resisting the urge to wake her up, just to hear her voice. Just to talk to her. Just to be with her. Of telling himself that it was useless, that she would come to her senses eventually, realize what a mistake she was making.

Of praying that would never happen. Of feeling truly hopeful for the first time in a long, long time.

And now….

Cursing Ross, cursing the past, cursing whatever entity it was that continued to toy with him, tempting him with happiness and then yanking it away as soon as he started to believe in it, he tossed the cigarette butt into the alley below, slid the window closed, and lay back down on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head, not even bothering to turn the light off.

_She loves me._

When the alarm went off, his eyes were as open as they'd been hours before. Exhausted and more than a little nauseous, he resolutely snapped the radio off and trudged towards the shower.

* * *

Several hours later, Rachel surfaced for the second time of the morning. Far too hung over for work, she'd awoken at 6 and stayed awake just long enough to call in sick, then collapsed back into bed for another three hours of sleep. After muddling through a quick shower, she padded into the kitchen to make some coffee. As she spooned cream and sugar into a mug, Monica popped cheerfully out of her own bedroom. 

"Morning, Rach…what are you doing home?"

Blearily, Rachel squinted across the apartment at her roommate. "Had kind of a rough night last night. Alcohol was involved. I know it was irresponsible of me, but, well…." She shrugged and turned back to the coffeepot, bracing herself for Monica's usual lecture. Instead, she started as a cool hand wrapped around her forearm.

"When are you gonna tell me what's going on around here, Rach?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"You barely spoke yesterday at the coffee house. You were all tense and distant…what gives?" Monica's voice was gentle, but firm. "Oh, come on, Rach. I've known you, how long? Twenty years? Give me _some _credit here."

Pouring her coffee over the small mountain of white powder in the bottom of the cup, Rachel chuckled half-heartedly. "All right, you win." She nodded towards an empty mug. "Want some?"

"I'll get it. You sit down and start talking."

Defeated, Rachel pulled out one of the mismatched kitchen chairs and sank into the seat. After Monica had joined her, she nervously traced the rim of her mug with her index finger for a long moment. "You're gonna be pretty…shocked…at what I have to say, Mon."

The dark-haired woman frowned slightly. "Shocked?"

"I mean, it's probably going to sound crazy to you." Rachel sighed again, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "There's no way to say this that's going to make it any easier to accept, so…"

"You're making me nervous here, Rach. Forget the buildup. Just talk."

Staring into the brown liquid, she said, "Chandler and I are…well…we're…" She struggled for the correct phrasing. _Having sex? Dating? Getting married within the week, if I have anything to say about it?_ "…together."

Monica gaped, thumping her mug onto the table in surprise, sloshing the strong liquid across the table. "To…_together, _together?"

Rachel nodded solemnly. "_Together_ together."

Monica stood, sputtering, fumbling for napkins to clean up the spill. "But…but…but…" She tried to gather herself, swiping at the spreading brown puddle. "But…well, _when?_"

Rachel smiled ruefully. "In London. After the rehearsal dinner. That's when it started, anyway."

Monica sat back down, clearly at a loss. "Well, you were right. I _am _shocked."

"Told ya."

"I just, that was pretty much the absolute last thing I was expecting you to say, especially since…well…."

Rachel cast her eyes toward her friend. "I know. Ross."

Monica nodded. "Ross." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Does he know…about this?"

Memories from the previous night flooded back, and the headache that had finally subsided after the fifth aspirin returned with a flourish. "Ah…yeah. He knows."

"Well? What did he say when you told him?"

Rachel flushed. "Well, I didn't, ah, I didn't, exactly."

"You didn't tell him? Did Chandler, then?"

"No, no, Chandler didn't tell him, either."

"OK, Rach, I know you've got a hangover here, but enough with the vague, already."

"Ross and I had dinner…well, we were _supposed_ to have dinner, last night. I went over there, we talked, he told me he wanted to give us another shot. I told him that couldn't happen, that there was someone else. 'Just a person,' I told him."

"Oh, Rach…"

"No, no, it gets worse. He's upset, but managing, I guess, and I can tell he wants to be alone, so I leave. I go to Chandler and Joey's, and Joey isn't there, and I feel so terrible…I tell Chandler everything, and he's trying to make me feel better…well, we're trying to make _each other _feel better, and…Ross walks in."

"Ross walked in on you and Chandler doing it!"

"NO!" Rachel exclaimed, horrified. "We weren't '_doing_ it!'Oh my God, Mon, do you think I'm _that _heartless? We were just on the couch, I was in his lap, he was hugging me. That's it. But," she sighed again, "that was enough. Ross stormed out. He was furious."

Monica was silent. Belatedly, Rachel realized that she was talking to Ross' sister. "Aw, crap, are you mad now, too?"

Monica shook her head slightly. "No, I'm not mad. I'm just…poor Ross."

Rachel groaned, burying her head in her arms. "I know. I feel awful. We both do."

"But…?"

Slowly, Rachel raised her eyes to meet her friend's. "But…I _love_ him, Mon."

Monica sat back. "Oh. _Oh._"

Rachel nodded. "That pretty much sums it up."

"So…what are you gonna do?"

Rachel rested her elbows on the table, pressing her chin into her hand. "Hell if I know."

* * *

"You got it, Bing?" 

Startled, Chandler mouthed wordlessly at his supervisor. "I…ah…well…I…"

"Articulate. Look, naptime's over. It's 2:30 now. You've got a lot of work to do. I need those figures on my desk by the end of the day." His message delivered, the older man stalked out of the office.

Grumbling, Chandler turned back to his computer as the intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Bing?"

"Yes?"

"A rather…_excited _Joseph Tribbiani on line three."

"Thanks." Chandler grabbed the phone from its cradle. "Hey, Joey."

"Hey, man! Guess what!"

Chandler kneaded his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Not really in the mood to guess, Joe."

He could almost _hear_ Joey's frown. "You ruin everything. Phoebe's in labor!"

"Oh my God!" Fully awake now, Chandler stood up. "Where are you?"

"We're at the hospital, we just got here. They took her back into the delivery room to get her settled in. How soon can you be here?"

"I'm on my – ah, shit. I don't know. I've got work to do."

"Dude! Babies! About to shoot outta your friend! Can't work wait?"

"No, it can't, not today. Look, I'll be there as soon as I possibly can. Tell Phoebe I love her."

"Okay, we'll – oooowwwwwww!"

"What's wrong?"

"It's these damn sympathy pains. I – _dammit!_" He paused, panting audibly. "See you soon, man," he grunted.

_Sympathy pains? _Forehead wrinkled, Chandler dropped the phone back onto the receiver and returned to his spreadsheet, determined to finish within the hour.

* * *

"What can I get you, Pheebs?" Rachel smoothed her friend's hair back from her eyes. "Anything?" 

Breathing heavily, the blonde grimaced. "No, I'm fine, I just…arrrrgh…want to get this show on the road."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "The doctor said it wouldn't be much longer, sweetie. I'm gonna go check on Joey, okay?"

Phoebe only grunted in reply.

Two floors down, she wrapped her hand around the doorknob to Joey's room. Voices inside stopped her. Joey's, edged with pain, she recognized instantly. The other, quieter, more baritone…_Ross._ Instinctively, she took two steps back. What good would it do to go in there now? Would he confront her in the hospital? Or would he simply ignore her, filling the room with tension, making poor, uncomfortable Joey even more so? _No_, she told herself, it was no good. Sighing, she turned back toward the elevator, wondering how they would ever get this mess untangled.

She stopped at the payphone, inserted two quarters and dialed Chandler's work number. Joey had told her he had some things to do before he could get there, but it had been nearly three hours and he was nowhere to be seen. "Chandler Bing, please," she said, toying with the coin return slot on the phone. "This is Rachel Green." Musak filled her ears as she waited for him to pick up, an instrumental version of U2's "With or Without You," and she resisted the slightly crazed urge to smash the receiver against the wall. Relief washed over her when Chandler's voice ended the torture.

"Rach?"

"Hi, you. How's it going?"

He groaned. "I'm nearly finished, thank God. How's Phoebe?"

"She's fine," Rachel said. "Well, as fine as she can be, considering. Joey, apparently, has kidney stones. He's okay, too, though. I think, anyway. I went to see him, just now, but…well, Ross was there, and I didn't go in."

Chandler was quiet for a moment. "It's going to be hard, isn't it?"

She nodded silently, as if he could see her. "I don't know how we're going to handle this."

"We'll figure something out. I promise."

"I'll let you finish up. See you soon."

"Bye, Rach."

Back upstairs, she found Monica in the waiting room, freshly arrived, still clad in her work clothes.

"I just saw Pheebs, she wants to know - any word from Alice yet?" Monica asked.

"No, not yet. Did you hear about Joey?"

"No, what's up?"

"He got really sick not long after we got here. The doctor says it's kidney stones. He's downstairs, in his own room." Rachel sank into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs and pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin there. "I just went down there to check on him, but…Ross was with him."

"Oh." Seemingly at a loss for words, Monica sat as well, focusing on the wall opposite them.

"Um, we weren't sure if you'd be able to get away from the restaurant."

Relieved by the topic change, Monica said, "Yeah, it took a while, but we finally got in touch with John. He needs the extra money, so he was happy to take yet _another_ of my shifts."

"That's good." Rachel cleared her throat. "Listen, Mon, with all the stuff that's been going on, I, ah, I haven't had a chance to ask you…well, how are _you _doing?"

Her dark-haired friend blushed a deep red. "I guess that means that Chandler told you what happened in London, huh?"

Rachel smiled slightly. "Well, yeah, but he was only confirming my suspicions."

"Yeah. Well." She turned to Rachel. "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I talked myself into letting that happen. I was just, I was just so bummed out, so lonely. And Joey was so understanding, and I was drunk, and I took advantage of the circumstances." She frowned into her lap. "Silly, huh?"

"Oh, sweetie, it isn't silly to feel crappy at weddings. _Everybody _feels crappy at weddings."

"Yeah, but what I did could really have messed things up with me and Joey. And honestly…can I tell you a secret?"

Rachel leaned forward conspiratorially. "Of course."

Monica fiddled with a frayed edge of plastic on the chair arm. "The thing is, I was so depressed…I think I would have settled for anyone. Not just Joey, I mean."

Rachel's eyes twinkled. "Well, I guess it's lucky for me that I was with Chandler that night, huh?"

Monica snorted. "I know! Can you imagine?"

Surprised at the bright flash of possessiveness that coursed through her blood at the mere thought, Rachel said only, "Let's not."

"Yeah. Anyway, it's just so lucky that Joey understood. He's such a good friend, I would've been really upset if I'd messed that up."

"But, so, you haven't really answered my question. How _are _you?" Rachel watched, interested, as a dimple appeared in Monica's left cheek. "Monicaaaa…what's going on?"

"Guess who came into the restaurant for lunch this afternoon?"

"Who?"

Monica's emerging grin finally arrived. "Richard!"

"Oh my God, Mon! What happened? Did you talk to him?"

"He came back into the kitchen. I didn't have time to talk – I was trying to finish up so I could get here - but he said he had some things to tell me." She paused, reflective. "It's probably nothing, you know? Anyway, we're having dinner tomorrow night." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "At his place."

"He's cooking?"

"Yup."

"Oh, Mon. This is huge."

Monica huddled down into the uncomfortable chair. "I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up."

"I understand. But I'm gonna go ahead and get my hopes up _for _you."

"Be my guest. I hope you aren't disappointed."

"I doubt I will be. That man was always crazy about you."

"Well, we'll see."

A scrub-clad Frank Jr. slid into the lobby, an enormous vein throbbing in his forehead. "The doctor says it's time! The doctor says it's time! Oh, God…." He disappeared once more, along with two nurses, into Phoebe's now-bustling room.

Monica stood. "I'm gonna try Alice again. You have the number?"

Rachel dug into her hip pocket, located the slip of paper bearing Alice's contact info and handed it to Monica, who immediately bee-lined for the payphone. Although she'd had next to zero experience with the process of labor and delivery, Rachel was fairly certain that it could still be hours before anything significant happened, so she riffled through the stack of year-old magazines next to her, settling finally on an ancient copy of _Better Homes and Gardens._ She'd just begun skeptically eyeing an article about scrapbooking when she sensed someone's eyes on her. Unnerved, she turned in her seat to discover Ross hovering in the doorway, his discomfort evident. Caught off guard, he seemed to battle with himself over how to behave, ultimately opting for a non-reaction and simply shoved his hands into his pockets. Eyes downcast, he turned his back to her, facing Monica as she hung up the telephone. Rachel turned back to the magazine, but it was no use; the article she'd already found boring failed to register, even after she'd re-read the first sentence six times. Giving up, she tossed the magazine back onto the rack and left in search of something to drink, subconsciously choosing the least convenient exit, which was incidentally _not _occupied by any angry ex-boyfriends.

* * *

Chandler rounded the corner, out of breath, and almost ran over Rachel, who was waiting for the machine to cough up her Diet Coke. "H – Hey!" he panted, "Did I miss anything?" 

Rachel bent and scooped up her soda before she turned to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. "Nope. The show only got started about fifteen minutes ago. It's gonna be a long night."

"So I guess I can't get in to see Phoebe at the moment, huh?"

"Not likely."

"What about Joey?"

"I just stopped in there a couple minutes ago – he's sleeping," she said.

"Well, in that case, you wanna sneak back downstairs with me while I burn a few more minutes off of my Countdown to Cancer?"

She resisted the urge to smile. "How early in the relationship is _too_ early to start nagging you to quit?"

"I don't have a lot of relationship experience to use as a reference, but I'd say…our thirtieth wedding anniversary?" Realizing belatedly what he'd actually _said, _shock and slight embarrassment paraded cartoonishly across his face. "I mean – "

Rachel smirked. "It's okay, Chandler, it was just a joke, I realize that. I promise not to order the invitations for at _least _another two weeks."

Relieved, he toed the ground sheepishly. "Thanks."

She threaded her arm through his. "C'mon, _Mr. Green_, let's go pump your blood full of toxins."

* * *

One cigarette dragged into two, and then three, and before long, ten minutes had turned into nearly forty-five, and Rachel realized that Monica was probably wondering where the hell she'd disappeared to. Reluctantly, she and Chandler found themselves swallowed up by the bustling hospital once more.

They found the Geller siblings huddled up together in the near corner of the waiting room. Their conversation ceased the moment Rachel and Chandler crossed through the doorway. Ross eyed them both disdainfully while Monica feigned an extreme interest in the cuff of her shirt. "Hey, guys," she muttered, clearly unsure of how to deal with the situation.

Ross cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't speak. Sighing inwardly, Rachel circled around and seated herself on the opposite side of Monica. Chandler muttered something about Joey and slipped back into the hallway. Rachel leaned back, irritated, and pressed her head against the wall behind her. The silence descended heavily around her shoulders, crept down her throat, settled somewhere behind her ribcage.

"Chandler didn't have to leave, you know," Ross muttered.

Rachel's head shot up. _What the hell? _"What?"

"I _said, _Chandler didn't have to _leave, _you know," he repeated sarcastically. "_I_ could have."

She gritted her teeth, annoyed. "Oh, that's mature, Ross. Very adult."

"You know what, Rachel? Don't start with me about what's 'adult' here. It seems to me that an 'adult' wouldn't have lied about what was going on. An 'adult' would have been honest."

"Well, excuse the _hell _out of me for wanting to wait for a more appropriate time to break the news to you. Next time, I won't bother trying to be considerate."

"Please, spare me the _considerate _crap. We both know that being 'considerate' was not your motive for avoiding the whole truth" With each volley, the volume of their argument escalated.

"Oh, really? Well, tell me then, O Mighty Sage, He Who is All-Knowing, what exactly _was _my motive?"

"You know good and damn well that what the two of you are doing is _wrong._ Nothing more, nothing less. It's against the rules. And the only reason you didn't tell me about it last night is because you were feeling guilty, and you were too cowardly to be honest." A muscle in his jaw was twitching. "How could you do this to me, right now?"

"Okay, you know what, Ross? Believe it or not, not _everything _is about_ you. _How dare you come at me with this self-righteous bullshit! A week ago, you were standing in front of a minister, ready to commit the rest of your life to someone else. How can you sit there and preach to me about these imaginary 'rules?' Tell me, would it be any different if you were _married _right now, the way you were supposed to be? Would you still be angry, would you still be sitting there, holding Emily's hand, all self-righteous, acting like somehow, what's going on between Chandler and me is some sort of deliberate attack on you? Huh?"

"My relationship with Emily is completely different! _She _isn't _your _best friend!"

"That's _not _what I meant, and you know it!"

"You guys," Monica timidly interrupted, "um, people are starting to stare."

Belatedly, Rachel realized once more where they were. Huffing, she sat back and forced herself to breathe, releasing the arms of the chair from her white-knuckled grasp. Ross stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, turning away from her. Slowly, activity in the waiting room returned to its previous pace, as the other visitors shook their heads in obvious disdain.

Ross turned to face her. "This discussion isn't over."

Two-thirds of her wanted to snap back at him, solely for the sake of arguing. The smaller part encouraged common sense. _Think of Phoebe, _it soothed. She choked back the words she wanted to say, said instead, "I'm going downstairs." Without waiting for an answer, she stalked out of the room and headed straight back to the ground floor. As she'd suspected, a haggard-looking Chandler was hunched just outside the front door, stubbing out a cigarette with one hand and lighting a second with the other. She stepped in front of him and snatched the freshly lit stick directly from his mouth.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "I thought we agreed that the hassling couldn't start for several decades!"

In reply, she stuck the cigarette between her lips and inhaled deeply.

Chandler's eyebrows soared as she coughed out a puff of acrid smoke. "_That _was unexpected."

Her eyes watering from the burning in her chest, she slid down the wall and dropped to the ground beside him. "Just don't tell my Dad," she said, her voice raspy. As an afterthought, she added, "Or Monica."

Chandler fumbled in his pocket for the pack of smokes. "Deal."

* * *

"Rach?" Twilight was descending around them. After several hundred annoyed looks from hospital security, the pair had embarked on a search for a new place to loiter. Now they were seated outside a crowded coffeehouse a few blocks from the hospital, nursing tepid cups of liquid caffeine. 

"Yeah?" Rachel slid her gaze from the cluster of teenagers huddled at the next table and focused on Chandler's exhausted expression.

"Um, I was wondering…what you said last night – right before Ross walked in – did, ah, did you mean that, um, the way it sounded like you meant it?" Before she'd had a chance to answer, he rushed on: "I mean, if you didn't, if you just meant, like, you know, you care about me, I mean, that's fine, it's totally fine, I'm not trying to rush you or anything, I just, it sounded like you might have meant something different, and I just wanted to make sure, because I really hate assuming anything, and, well, I just – "

"Chandler. Whoa. Slow down, there, tiger."

"Yeah, yeah, I figured. You didn't mean _love _love, I knew that, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same – "

"Chandler! Babbling! Time out!" She grinned at him, reached across the table to stroke the back of his hand, touched and more than a little amused by the blush creeping up his neck. "Honey, I meant slow down _your speech_."

"I know, I – wait, what?"

"If you'd take a break from the 13-year-old girl impression, I could answer your question."

"Notice here that I'm not laughing."

"Chandler," she began, affectionately, "what I said last night, I _meant_. Exactly the way I said it. And before you say anything, I know it's awfully fast. But I can't help the way I feel. It's just there, and I can't – no, I _don't want to _– hide it. I'm finished playing games."

"Wow."

"And hey, look, I didn't say that because I was expecting you to say it back. I know it's soon. I don't expect you to feel the same way. I didn't actually intend to blurt it out like that last night, it just happened. I felt it, and before I could stop myself, I said it." She nervously traced the pattern in the wrought-iron table with her index finger. "I've scared you, haven't I? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that's the last thing I wanted to do – I – can we just, can we just pretend I didn't say it?"

"Now who's the 13-year-old girl?"

"Very funny."

"Look, Rach, if you'd scared me, I probably wouldn't be sitting here right now. In fact, I'd probably be avoiding you at all costs. This is _me _we're talking about. _Chandler._ I'm not known for my brave, mature behavior toward women." He pushed his cup aside, leaning toward her. "Tell me: Do I look scared to you?"

"I just don't want you to feel pressured."

"I don't."

"Promise?"

"Swear to God."

"Good."

"Are we okay?"

Relieved, she smiled across the table at him. "Yeah, we're okay."

"All right, then." He glanced at his watch. "We should probably get back."

"Yeah. Back to the Waiting Room o' Fun." She dug in her purse for a couple of ones, tucked them underneath the napkin holder.

Chandler stood, offering her a hand, which she accepted. She took a few steps back toward the hospital, but he didn't move. At his resistance, she turned back. "What's up?"

"I love you, too, Rach."

Cold, bristling shock prickled at her pulse points. "Are – are you sure?" she asked, nervously hopeful.

He stepped closer, tugging her closer at their joined hands. "I love you, Rachel Green." She studied his face, so full of honest sincerity, and then timidly slipped her arms around his neck. His breath hot against her forehead, he continued, mantra-like, "I love you, I love you, I love you…."

As warmth rushed over her, she purposefully melted against him, pressing her face into his chest, his whispered chant drowning out all of the voices that swirled around them, all along the busy sidewalk.

* * *


	16. Duck L'Orange

_A/N: I don't think anyone is even still reading this, but I found this chapter hiding on my hard drive and figured I may as well upload it, despite its suckitude. "Enjoy."  
_

_I'm fiddling with Phoebe's birth story slightly for my own purposes. Only slightly. Some story and dialogue taken from canon, where necessary. As always, I don't own these characters. I barely own myself._

_In the event that anyone is still reading, I have a request for you, at the bottom. Scroll away._

**Chapter 16: Duck L'orange**

"Ross?" Monica's voice broke the uncomfortable silence in the hospital's waiting area. "Phoebe's asking for you."

"Sure." Ross practically leapt from his seat, blatantly relieved for the opportunity to escape the suffocating tension. Rachel and Chandler exchanged a worried glance despite the fact that they were both equally relieved to see him go.

Monica sunk down into a chair opposite them and sighed. "Pheebs said to tell you that you can thank her later," she said. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and groaned upon seeing the little hand straddling the one. "God, we've been here for _hours. _How much longer is this gonna take?"

Rachel sighed, alternating her crossed legs. "I don't know. I'm gonna have to go pretty soon, though; I love Phoebe to pieces, but I've gotta be up for work in like…" Her exhaustion made the mental arithmetic an even slower process than usual. "…five hours?"

Chandler rested his head against the wall at his back. "Me, too. I can't afford to miss any more work. Shockingly, I'm already on my boss' shit list."

Monica stifled a yawn. "Well, I'm off tomorrow. Again." She grimaced. "God, I'm gonna be broke next month. Anyway, why don't you guys go on home? I'm sure Phoebe will understand. Hell, it's not like the birth's gonna be a magical Kodak moment, anyway. Which part will she want us all to share? The one where Frank, Jr. and Alice start making out on the bed at her feet? Or, or the one where they take the babies away from her right after she pushes 'em out?"

Rachel prodded at her temples; the fluorescent lights coupled with the antiseptic smell of the hospital had given her a splitting headache. "Are you sure, Mon?"

The dark-haired woman nodded. "Tomorrow's when she'll need us the most. Go home. Get some rest. Ross and I will be here."

Grudgingly, Rachel and Chandler stood, hugging Monica goodbye. Chandler cleared his throat. "Don't want to interrupt Ross'…whatever, in there…can you tell Phoebe we love her?"

Monica nodded. "No problem. Night, you guys."

Forty-five minutes later, Rachel trudged into her apartment, not even bothering to turn on a light. Chandler had stopped over at his place to check on the animals, and she had changed into a nightshirt and finished her bedtime rituals before he joined her in her bedroom. "Can I come in?" he asked, faux-coy.

In the dim light of her reading lamp, Rachel batted her eyelashes at him. "But of course."

Shedding his freshly donned sweatpants and t-shirt, Chandler slid in between the sheets and draped an arm across her tank-top-clad torso. "Gonna be a short night, huh, Rach?"

She groaned, ignoring the screaming red numbers on her alarm clock, which had far too many "2"s in it for her liking. "God, I wish I hadn't called in sick this morning."

"Nothing else for it, though. You were traaa-aashed last night."

"So were you, and you managed to make it."

"Yeah, well…I've had a lot of practice."

She smiled faintly, threading her fingers through his. "So since we're already gonna be useless tomorrow…care to make it a little worse?" She turned on her side, facing him, and traced his calf muscle with her toes, nudging her knee between his thighs, grinning at his body's near-instantaneous response.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he growled, and crushed his mouth against hers.

Once again, she marveled at the effect he had on her. Her brain was immediately foggy, the world and all of the chaos with Ross faded away into nothingness. She'd never felt this kind of heady passion before, never with anyone, and it was impossible to control. She responded eagerly to his caresses, arching her back, pressing her hips into his. Her pulse quickened at his muffled moan, and she reveled in the feeling of power his pleasure inspired in her.

And then she was underneath him, his hands tangled through her hair, threading the silken strands between his fingers. His kisses were a welcome assault, blotting out all consciousness, and before she knew it, she was lost.

**Wednesday**

It seemed to Rachel that only fifteen minutes had passed when her alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. Reluctantly, she rolled out of the warm circle of Chandler's arms, slapping resolutely at the infernal voices coming out of the devil box on her nightstand. Her head was blurry with exhaustion; it was all she could do to pull on her robe and stumble into the kitchen to make coffee. From the bedroom, she heard the grumpy sounds of Chandler's awakening, and she couldn't help but smile. Unbidden, memories of the previous night thundered into her consciousness, and she felt herself grappling for the countertop to steady her weak knees. She frowned at her own reflection in the kitchen window, knowing she should feel at least a little bit guilty for feeling so damn happy at Ross' expense, but her heart wasn't in it. _Besides, _she told herself, _the guilt'll still be there in a couple hours. Let me enjoy this while I can._

Chandler trudged into the living room, a mirror image of her own reluctance to prepare for a day at the office. "Remember the other day," he mumbled, "when I told you I had a little money saved? It would probably be enough to live on here in the city for at least a month or so. We don't necessarily _have _to go to work today."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "As appealing as that sounds, you know as well as I do that _no _savings account could support my shopping habit for that long. Besides," she continued, crossing to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, "I wouldn't want you to get sick of me."

He buried his nose in her hair. "After what you did to me last night? Unlikely."

She grinned into his shoulder, then grudgingly stepped away from him. "I made coffee. Help yourself; I have to get started or I'll be late."

"Thanks. If we absolutely _have _to go, you wanna share a cab?"

"You bet."

"'K." Chandler rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and aimed his exhausted body toward the coffeepot.

An hour later, they were sitting amiably at the kitchen table, Chandler perusing _The__New York Times _while Rachel sifted through the previous day's mail. The door swung open as a visibly exhausted Monica dragged herself into the apartment. "Hey, you guys."

"Mon!" Rachel exclaimed. "Did everything go OK? Is Phoebe all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She was sleeping when I left. Ross is still there; he's camped out in the room with her." She dropped into one of the mismatched chairs. "Didn't want her to wake up all alone. I think it was harder than she expected, handing over the babies."

Chandler folded his paper and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "How's little Chandler? Strapping and manly, in manner of me?"

Monica's peal of laughter startled the other two. "Ironically – or maybe not so much – the third baby turned out to be a girl."

Chandler reddened. "So what are they going to call her, then?"

Monica smiled at him guilelessly. " 'Chandler.'"

"Seriously?"

"Well, yeah! Why would they change it?"

"Well, it's kind of a masculine name for a girl, don'tcha think?"

Monica grinned. "Phoebe thought you might say that. She said to tell you…what was it? Oh, right: 'Works on you.'"

"She's gonna pay for that."

"Don't be too hard on her. It really was a rough night." Gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Rachel had poured for her, she continued, "Can you believe she tried to talk me into asking Frank and Alice if she could _keep _one of the triplets?"

Rachel sighed. "Poor thing."

"I know," Monica agreed. "I really admire her; I could never go through with it."

Chandler drained his mug and stood to place it in the sink. "I guess it's that time. You ready, Rach?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you downstairs."

"OK. See you later, Mon." He grabbed his briefcase and disappeared out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"So," Rachel said. "What time's the big date?"

"Oh, that," Monica said, nonchalant. "Gosh, I'd almost forgotten."

"My ass you had. A hundred bucks says you haven't thought of anything else all night long."

"That's not true," Monica denied. "I had the pleasure of being heartily distracted by one, Phoebe bearing her brother's children, and two, Ross complaining all night about you and Chandler."

"Oh, Mon, I'm so sorry. I was really hoping he wouldn't try to stick you in the middle of all this."

"Yeah, well…" Monica waved her hands noncommittally. "Anyway, the 'big date,' as you so charmingly referred to it, is at 7:30. What the hell am I gonna wear?"

"Don't you worry about that. I'll be home at 6, that's plenty of time for us to obsess over it together. Just get some rest – my money says you're gonna need your energy tonight – probably more than you're going to need the clothes." Her blue eyes twinkled.

"We'll see."

"Yeah," agreed Rachel, smirking. "We will. I'll see you tonight."

"Have a good day."

"No, that won't work either. Dammit!" Monica's voice was taut with annoyance as she discarded what Rachel estimated to be the seven hundred and third ensemble of the night.

"Mon, you know, we've been going at this for like, an hour now, and you still haven't mastered your hair or your makeup, and you have to leave like, _now_." Rachel grabbed her friend's arm and propelled her towards the big room. "Go, now, to the bathroom, and work on your hair. Do not pass 'Neurotic,' do not collect 'unprovoked freakout,' and do not come back in here until clothes are _all _you are lacking. I do this for a living. I will pick something for you, you will wear it, you will like it, and Richard will want to rip it off of you the second he opens the door to his apartment. Go. _Get._"

Protesting only in theory, Monica disappeared into the living room, leaving Rachel to wade through the pile of perfectly acceptable clothes on her roommate's bed.

_OK, OK. What happened to that cute little black skirt? The one Monica dismissed because it was "too skirt-y?" Where is it…where is it…a-ha! _Triumphantly, she tossed the skirt in question to the top of the bed. _Now. OK. We need something blue, to accent Mon's eyes. _She stepped over the chaos of Monica's floor and riffled through the clothes remaining on hangers. Almost immediately, she found it: a pale-hued sleeveless number in a flowy, airy chiffon. The cowl neck was a flattering cut, and the color worked perfectly as a complement to Monica's ice-blue eyes. After digging out some simple black sandals, she rummaged around in her friend's jewelry box before settling on some simple, periwinkle-colored drop earrings and the matching silver necklace. As a final touch, she dashed to her own room, reaching confidently for a handmade bangle bracelet with red beading, something she'd picked up on a whim the day she'd spent shopping in London. It was a little bohemian for Rachel's usual taste, but it was a lovely accoutrement to the relative simplicity of the outfit she'd assembled.

She was extremely relieved to find Monica already wearing the skirt and tugging the shirt over her head. "Are you _sure _about this skirt? I mean, _absolutely _sure?"

"Monica. I'll be sure to ask you that next time you make me dinner. 'Are you _sure _about this duck l'orange? I mean, _absolutely – _"

"OK, OK," Monica interrupted. "I get it."

Rachel passed her the accessories and pushed her toward the sandals. "OK, let me see you."

Monica turned, and Rachel stopped just short of applauding. "You look amazing, Mon. Richard won't know what hit him. Now. Go! You're going to be late!"

She followed Monica toward the door, trying her level best not to giggle aloud at the brunette's undeniable anxiety. "Monica. You. Are. Going. To. Be. Fine."

"But – "

"No."

"_But – "_

"No!" She shoved Monica's purse into her hands. "Get out, before I physically remove you from this apartment." She swung the door open and guided her friend out into the hall. "And do not even think of calling me from downstairs. Go get you some Richard."

And then she closed the door in Monica's face, waiting until she heard retreating footsteps before releasing the knob.

_A/N: OK, you guys, here's the thing: I've written myself into a corner. I saw it coming several chapters ago, but I didn't know how to get around it, so I've continued to write, and as a result, much of this chapter and the last one is just filler. I really am sorry about that. The trouble is, I've kind of pre-empted my conflict by having Rachel's answer to Ross be an unequivocal "no." And it's time I admitted this: I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. I want to finish this godforsaken thing; I've been writing it for a frillion years, and even I am astonished that 1) I'm STILL working on it and 2) it's STILL not finished. Very annoying all around. _

_Anyway, I'm desperately trying to avoid the usual plot twists (i.e. somebody gets pregnant, somebody gets in an accident) but damned if I know of any other options. If I can't come up with something soon, this story is doomed forever to incomplete fanfic hell. I really don't want that, but it's starting to seem unavoidable._

_So. With that in mind, if there is anyone out there who has any ideas for where I could possibly take it from here, I'll gladly accept suggestions at scarlettbgonya (at) gmail (dot) com. I can't promise to use them all, but I can promise to listen with an open mind and to gratefully credit anyone whose idea I use. Thanks, y'all._


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